


The White Wolf's Devotion

by ALiteraryLife



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALiteraryLife/pseuds/ALiteraryLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Opens during 6x10. Jon and Sansa stand as a united front, finding comfort and relief in one another. When a suitor steps forward to claim Sansa and take her once more from Winterfell, she turns to her brother to save her. Jon's devotion to Sansa develops into something more, despite his efforts to stop it. Jonsa pairing w/minor backing characters, including a Brienne/Jamie sampling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I

**A/N** : My story picks up in 6x10 as Jon is declared King in the North. In my slightly altered storyline, there was no meeting between Sansa and Baelish at the godswood. Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated.

# Part I

"But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. And we know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my King. From this day to his last day."

Jon felt his throat tighten and his stomach clench as he processed Lyanna Mormont's claim. The sensation only intensified as he was proclaimed the White Wolf and the Northern Houses began to proclaim allegiance to him.

His breath hitched and he rose as the most honorable Houses in the North stood united in their support of him. He glanced down at Sansa, who sat at his side where she had been from the start. She met his gaze and a trace of a smile lit her lips. Somewhere inside him, the bastard child of Ned Stark who had watched through the windows as the Stark children laughed and played, felt the validation he'd always sought. He had been proclaimed a Stark by his sister and was now being publicly recognized as such by the noblest Houses in the North. How have I risen so high? He mused. First as Lord Commander and now King in the North. He hadn't wanted to be Lord Commander. He'd only wanted to be a ranger like his Uncle Benjen. And he didn't want to be King now. He just wanted to keep his family safe.

Jon's eyes surveyed the scene before him. Men on their feet, swords drawn and held in the air as he was proclaimed King. At the edge of his field of vision, he saw Petyr Baelish. His expression grim and eyes set upon Sansa. At the back of his mind, Jon knew he'd have to deal with Baelish. He didn't trust him and his betrayal of Sansa… Jon would see her vindicated. Still, it was because of Littlefinger that they'd survived the battle and retaken Winterfell. He couldn't deny that.

Jon cleared his throat, raising a gloved hand. Slowly, the chants died out and the room silenced. Those who had taken a knee rose, eyes on him.

"You honor me, my Lords. In a way I never dreamed. But this is not my honor to have. I'm a leader, aye, but it's in battle not politics. The North deserves a Warden who will not fall in battle; who has survived by will and will alone. With an army at her side, my sister will not fail you as I would have, had she not intervened."

Jon looked down at Sansa, who stared up at him slack jawed. He smiled and reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Sansa is a trueborn Stark. The North is hers, not mine. I fight for her, as I fight for all of you." He turned to his sister and stepped back, unsheathing his sword. He knelt before her, leaning on his sword as he held it to his chest. "You have my sword, my Lady. From this day until my last day."

The room was silent as Jon knelt before her. It was Ser Davos's voice who broke the silence, allowing Jon to breathe a sigh of relief.

"It's not much, my Lady, for I have no House and no army to pledge to you. But you have my sword. Now and always."

Jon glanced over his shoulder and saw Ser Davos take a knee before Sansa.

"The Queen in the North!"

Jon wasn't sure whose voice it was, but he was thankful for the cheer, for it brought with it several others until the room was filled with chants of support for Sansa Stark.

He felt her hands on his arm, pulling him to his feet. She gazed at him with affection and a sadness Jon couldn't comprehend. She took his hands in her own and squeezed gently before facing the hall. She lifted her cup from the table and raised it in the air.

"To the North," she said, simply. "May it stand united and strong in the battle to come and all the days to follow."

"To the North!"

When the chants and cheers had faded away and the Lords had begun toasting one another and returned to their own conversations, Sansa pulled Jon down to his seat. She turned to him, her hand on his arm.

"We need to speak. Now."

Jon nodded and glanced at Ser Davos and then they rose, exiting quickly and quietly. When they were out in the snow, Jon blew into his cupped hands and turned to face his sister.

"Not here," she said, and took off for the castle. Jon felt his stomach twist, a sense of doom settling over him. Something was wrong. Foreboding seemed to hover in the winter air and Jon wanted nothing more than to avoid whatever conversation was about to take place.

When they reached the castle, Sansa kept going, guiding Jon to his chambers. Upon entering the room, she went straight for the window and stuck her head out, looking toward the direction they had come. When she turned back to face him, she sighed.

"Sansa, what's going on?"

"You're going to get angry, but hear me out, Jon, please." Jon nodded despite his inclination to make no promises. Sansa took a deep breath and then raised her head, locking her eyes with his. "I can't be Warden of the North, Jon. You have to do it. I didn't tell you about the raven I sent to Petyr Baelish for a reason. I should have, I know. Maybe you would have loss fewer men had I been honest with you. But I also knew that had I told you, you wouldn't have let me make the deal I made. If I hadn't done it, the Knights of the Vale wouldn't have come. You would have died. He would have won."

"What deal?" Jon stepped forward, his heart racing.

"I'm to wed Petyr Baelish."

"No, you're bloody well not!" Jon exclaimed, striding forward. He took her by the shoulders, his eyes darkening in their intensity.

"I am, Jon. I must. I gave my word."

"Then you'll ungive it!"

Sansa sighed and stared up at her brother. He looked so like their father in that moment. His hair fell in full, dark curls, framing his face and cascading over the furs on his shoulders. His leathers matched their father's, completing the image and making him look more Stark than ever. The various cuts on his exposed skin had begun to heal, though Sansa doubted the one over his left eye ever would.

"You know I can't," she said. "A Stark's word is her bond and I am a Stark above all."

"You'd be a Baelish, no longer a Stark."

"I was made a Bolton, Jon, but I remained a Stark. I always will."

"You shouldn't have done this," Jon said, moving away from her in his anger. "He betrayed you, Sansa! He sold you to that monster in the interest of his own schemes. You suffered because of him. The things that were done to you…"

"Cannot be undone. But what would you have had me do? Let you die? Let Ramsay win? You needed the army, Jon. I tried to tell you –"

"You offered no solutions, Sansa! You only told me how it wouldn't work. You didn't tell me how to make it work. You didn't tell me you would bring me an army."

"If I had," she began but Jon cut her off once more.

"I never would have allowed this deal. How can I sacrifice my sister for my gains?"

Sansa stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of Jon's face, forcing his eyes upon her.

"We took back our home, Jon. I'll never leave here again. I'm safe, finally, and you're alive. It wasn't for your gains that I pledged myself to him; it was for me. I couldn't see you die. I couldn't face being alone again. You're the only family I have left and reclaiming our home together is worth so much more to me than whom I lie with at night."

Jon groaned loudly and closed his eyes at the thought of her sharing a bed with Petyr Baelish. The thought actually made him sick. He pulled Sansa into a hug so tight, it hurt his already wounded ribs. As he held her, his mind recalled the moment they'd been reunited at Castle Black.

_An alarm rang and an alert was called out. Riders approached the gate. Jon shared a look with Edd before they both turned and set out for the gates. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, prepared to fight, should it come to it. His steps slowed as he reached the balcony overlooking the keep. Her red hair, though dingy and lackluster, stilled him. She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings before her eyes fell upon him. His mind whispered her name, yet he comprehended it not. He took a step back from the railing as they stared at one another. It was only when his feet began to move of their own accord that Jon felt the full effect of his sister's sudden arrival at Castle Black._

_He approached her, his eyes holding her. She looked so much older than she had when they'd parted ways. She was still so young, his rational mind knew, yet she looked aged well beyond her years. Shadow etched her face in hard lines, yet there was still a subtle softness underlying the grime._

_They stood, only a few feet separating them, and Jon saw her breath hitch before she stepped forward, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her, lifting her off the ground as he held her against him. She had survived. Somehow she had survived and come here to find him. Holding her against him, filling his arms and senses with family and relief, made the pain of the recent betrayals recede until he felt only peace._

_Sansa gripped him so tightly, her head resting against his, that he could scarcely breathe. Still, he held her tighter for fear she would disappear, leaving him clutching a ghost. He felt her tears moisten the side of his face and his own breath caught in his chest, clutching his heart. When he released her, setting her on the ground gently, his hands found hers._

_"Sansa," he whispered._

_"Jon," she replied and he put his hand on the side of her face._

_"I never thought I'd see you again," he said._

_She smiled and leaned into his hand. For the first time in years, Jon felt hope._

Jon opened his eyes and released his sister. He felt at a loss; completely helpless to fix this.

"When?" he asked.

"He'll travel to the Eyrie to request Robin's blessing and restore his army. After that, he'll return here and we'll…"

Sansa trailed off and Jon took a deep breath. He had a little time at least, to find a way to stop it.

"You have to be King, Jon. If I'm Queen, it would make him… I can't let that happen. Father would want you to be Warden anyway. This is how it has to be."

"I've just declared you Queen in front of all the Northern Houses. How do I go back on that?"

Sansa sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"We find a way," she said.

##### XXXX

Sansa met Petyr Baelish at the godswood the next morning to bid him farewell. The journey to the Eyrie would not take too long and even with his return trip, Sansa expected to see him within six weeks' time. She planned to use that time to the best of her ability. She wanted to restore her home to its former glory. She wanted to stitch a few more Stark banners and perhaps even a spare set of cloaks for both her and Jon. And Jon… She wanted to spend time with her brother. She wanted to get to know him as she never had when they were children. And he was a man now, undoubtedly changed. Once Petyr was back and they were wed, her opportunities to be herself, to let her guard down, would diminish. She would always be simply playing a part.

She sat upon the bench, her eyes closed as she tilted her face up to the sun. Winter was upon them, but from time to time, the sun made an appearance, warming her countenance when she needed it most.

His footsteps made her stomach drop and Sansa steeled herself before opening her eyes to look at her betrothed. She rose, standing tall before him.

Petyr's eyes lit up as she smiled. Briefly, Sansa recalled a time when she had felt the warmth of attraction bloom within her body when she looked at him. For a time, he had been the only reliable and trustworthy person in her life. He'd saved her, she thought, and would keep her safe. Now, when she thought of her naïveté, it made her ill. Would she ever grow up and stop being the foolish child she had been? The child who trusted others and believed in love? At least now she knew once she was wed to Lord Baelish, love wouldn't matter. She wouldn't have to wonder if it would ever find her. She'd be safe in Winterfell; protected by Jon. That was all that mattered.

"Petyr," she said softly.

"My love," he replied and placed his hand on the side of her face, stroking her cheek gently. Sansa felt no desire to lean into his touch as she had when Jon had touched her that way.

They stared at one another for a moment before Petyr leaned forward, kissing her lips tenderly. Sansa had been kissed several times before, not all of them as tender as this. She had met each kiss, whether tender or abrasive, with the appropriate return. Not for the first time, she remembered the last time Petyr had kissed her. It had made her feel powerful and brave. Now it just made her feel bored and impatient.

Petyr deepened the kiss, tightening his arms around her body as he held her. His tongue moved forward, pressing against hers and Sansa heard a whimper escape her lips. She wanted to weep and pound his chest for kissing her like that. She wanted to leave the mark of her hand across his cheeks and spit on his feet for touching her so.

He kissed her deeply, aggressively, though not near the level of brutality Ramsay had done so. Still, the parallels were too great and Sansa felt panic rise in her chest. Just when she thought she could take no more, Petyr drew away. He looked at her hungrily and she felt her chest rise and fall with the force of her anxious breaths. She knew he was mistaking her panic for passion when a satisfied smile greeted his lips.

"I will return soon, my love."

Sansa nodded, though her eyes flickered to movement at the line of trees behind him. She saw Jon lean against a tree, his hand upon his sword. His expression was so stormy it gave Sansa chills. She pulled her eyes back to Petyr's face and smiled dutifully.

"Be safe, my Lord."

Petyr nodded and pulled her forward once more, holding her against him. Sansa felt her arm rise, holding onto his cloak as her eyes met Jon's. She stared at him and he stared back, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched them.

"I'll send a raven after speaking with Robin, my little wolf."

Sansa cringed at the sound of his nickname for her, but said nothing, only nodding against him. When he pulled back again, she cleared her expression and smiled softly, placing her hand on the side of his face. She felt every bit the dutiful wife.

"I'll await your word."

Petyr kissed her again suddenly, his hands gripping her waist as though she were the only thing keeping him from flying from the Earth. Sansa opened her eyes as he kissed her, finding Jon. Even from the great distance, she could see his lips moving, though she couldn't make out what he said. After a moment, which seemed to bleed into several moments, Jon ran a hand through his hair roughly and turned, charging away from the trees back to the castle. Sansa felt her heart clench, feeling as though she were betraying him. All she'd wanted was to keep him alive and reclaim their home. How had she managed to disappoint him in the process?

Just as Jon disappeared from her field of vision, Ghost appeared. He padded his way toward her and just as Petyr drew away from Sansa, Ghost laid himself at her feet putting distance between the two. Petyr laughed, a mirthless sound that echoed around them. He glanced around them, undoubtedly looking for Jon, but saw no one.

"Well, I suppose that's my cue. Farewell, my love."

Sansa nodded and watched as he strode away from her toward the gates of Winterfell. Sansa waited until he was gone before swooping, pulling Ghost into her arms.

"Good boy, Ghost."

##### XXXX

Jon sat with Tormund and Ser Davos. For once, they weren't discussing battle plans or anything serious. Rather, Jon and Ser Davos were casting bets on how many weapons Tormund had hidden within his furs and leathers. Ser Davos sat back, leaning away so he could take in Tormund's full form. Jon had seen Tormund in the nude. He knew there was no limit to where the man could hide his weapons.

Jon looked up as Sansa and Brienne entered quietly. Both stopped by the door, watching as Tormund stood suddenly and began pulling weapons from his clothing. Despite the show happening feet from him, Jon's eyes stayed on Sansa. She laughed, raising a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. Her cheeks flushed pale pink when Tormund pushed his pants to his ankles and began unstrapping the knives attached to his thighs.

"For God's sake," Brienne muttered, drawing Tormund's attention. He grinned and stood to his full height, hands on his hips. Laughter tore from Jon's throat as Tormund twisted his hips from side to side gently, the sound of his member slapping his thighs filling the air.

Sansa giggled and turned away, facing the door through which they had just entered. Brienne, on the other hand, apparently did not want to give Tormund the satisfaction.

"I thought the Free Folk were accustomed to the cold?"

Tormund stopped suddenly, Brienne's words nearly sending Ser Davos to the floor from the force of his laughter. Jon choked on the ale he was drinking and glanced at Tormund expectantly. Tormund looked between Jon and Brienne and then down at his crotch. He frowned and gripped himself, making Ser Davos laugh even louder.

"It's a good size, isn't it?" He looked at Jon, eyebrow raised and Jon coughed before swallowing more ale.

Once his pants were secured around his waist once more, Tormund refilled his cup.

"Cold hearted woman," he muttered.

Sansa came forward finally, settling herself onto the bench beside Jon. She looked at him for a moment and then took his mug from his hand, swallowing a small mouthful. She winced, but didn't cough this time. She passed the mug back to Jon, smirking triumphantly. He grinned back and nudged her shoulder gently.

They sat together, the five of them, drinking and sharing stories until well after sundown. Sansa giggled while Ser Davos and Lady Brienne struggled to pull Tormund up from the floor after passing out. Together, the two of them shouldered Tormund out of the room and off to his quarters. Jon was still laughing when Sansa reached past him to refill the mug they'd been sharing.

"I don't remember the last time I laughed," she said. "Not really. I think I've smiled and laughed more in the past few weeks than I have since we left home six years ago."

"Aye," Jon said, leaning back on the bench so he was facing her. "It's a weightless feeling, being home."

"Home," Sansa repeated, staring into the mug. Her expression cleared, the laughter leaving her face and Jon instantly wished for it back. "It wasn't home for me before. Burnt and hollow, flying Bolton colors. No laughter or joy. It was a strange thing: walking these halls and feeling the ghosts of mother and father and finding no relief in it. I used to sit," she continued, looking up at Jon, "in the few moments of peace Ramsay neglected to fill with horror. I'd sit and think of Old Nan. Of Arya and the boys. Of Robb. Of you."

Jon allowed a hint of a smile pull at his lips, watching her.

"You don't know what it was like, finding out you were Lord Commander. I imagined you, all clad in black with your serious expression and dark eyes. I thought of you standing on the wall looking out into the night with your men surrounding you. After all that time, finding out one of you was alive, safe, and in command, no less… It was one of the few times I was thankful for talking with Ramsay."

"You look like your mother," Jon said suddenly, taking Sansa by surprise. She blushed and looked down at her hands gripping the mug of ale. She took a swallow and handed it back to Jon.

"You hated my mother," she said.

"No," Jon said quickly, shaking his head. "I never hated her. She hated me, but I can't say I blamed her. Not really. It was terribly unfair, all of it, of course. I wallowed in that quite often, didn't I?"

Sansa laughed and Jon smirked at her.

"But I never hated her, Sansa. In a lot of ways, I respected her. She loved the five of you so fiercely. I'd never seen anything like it before. Haven't since. Until now, that is."

Sansa looked up at him questioningly and Jon looked down at his hands.

"Your mother would have done the same thing you're doing for me. She would have done that for father. She would have done anything to save him. Given up her happiness, her freedom, her life, if necessary. I don't deserve it."

Sansa's hands brushed over his, taking the mug from his hand. She set it on the table and turned so they were facing each other on the bench. She searched his face and he found himself studying hers. They had never been close enough as children for him to really look at her. Now that he had the chance, he took the time to learn her features. She was probably the last family he'd ever have. There'd been no trace of Arya or Bran and Rickon was dead. He'd never felt more alone in the world, yet he'd also never felt what he felt when he looked at Sansa. He had to protect her. Keeping her safe was all that mattered now. The world would live on or die out whether or not he existed; he knew that. He was just one man in the battle to come. But who if not him would keep her safe? That was his real responsibility now.

They stared at each other until the silence between them felt heavy and charged with something Jon couldn't make sense of. They looked away from one another at the same time, Jon grabbing the ale and Sansa pulling her hair over her shoulder, putting it in a messy braid.

Ghost whined from under the table and Sansa ducked her head down, looking at him. She straightened again and stared at Jon, her eyes shining with amusement.

"You sent him earlier, didn't you?"

Jon cleared his throat and shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "What?"

"This afternoon at the godswood. You sent him to me, didn't you?"

Jon hesitated and then put the cup of ale on the table, slamming it harder than he intended.

"Well what would you have me do? Just let him touch you like that?"

Sansa chuckled and then sighed, shaking her head.

"Are you going to send Ghost to me every time he gets close? What about at night when he lies with me? Jon…"

"Maybe I will," he said and looked at her defiantly. She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. Her laughter brought a grin to Jon's lips and he reached out, flipping her braid. He rolled his eyes at her and she settled again, giggling to herself. Jon could hear the effect of the alcohol on her words, yet she didn't seem as drunk as he would have expected.

"Jon," she said, turning to him suddenly.

"Hmm?" Jon said lazily, his blood warm and comfortable.

"Have you had a girl before?"

Jon sputtered on the ale in his mouth, swallowing hard. He looked up at her, feeling his cheeks flush red hot.

"That's a yes," Sansa whispered, leaning closer to him. "Tell me."

He cleared his throat and handed her the ale. The thought of Ygritte still pained him and he hadn't talked about her much, but somehow, he found himself saying her name.

"Ygritte," he said. "Her name was Ygritte. She was a wildling."

"What did she look like?"

"She was beautiful. Strong, but delicate. Her skin was pale like most of the free folk and her hair was red like yours. Her eyes held so much; spoke when her lips did not. Which, to be honest, wasn't often. The girl was always saying something."

Sansa stilled, watching him as he spoke.

"She opened me up. Taught me who I could be and showed me the things I didn't know. She's the one who showed me I was fighting for honor that didn't matter when I should have been fighting for more."

Jon stood up suddenly, startling Ghost as he did.

"She died in my arms. Murdered by my own people," he said.

Sansa rose and stood behind him, his back facing her and his head hanging. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he winced at her touch. She turned him, forcing his eyes upon hers, searching. An unbidden thought entered Jon's mind before he could drive it away. She looked like Sansa. Fair, ginger-haired, and beautiful. How had I not seen that before?

Sansa rose up on her toes, steadying herself by gripping his arms. She pressed her lips to his cheek and Jon felt her eyelashes against his skin as her eyes fluttered closed. He moved slowly, wrapping his arms around her.

They held each other for several moments, enjoying the comfort and warmth of one another. Jon stroked Sansa's hair and she rested her hand on the back of his neck, allowing her eyes to close while she enjoyed his tender touch.

It was only when Brienne and Davos re-entered the room that they drew apart, each flushing warm with embarrassment. Jon wasn't sure if the embarrassment he felt was for holding his sister so close for so long, or for being caught doing so.

Sansa bid him goodnight and left with Lady Brienne, returning to her quarters for the night. Jon turned to face Ser Davos, who looked at him curiously but said nothing.

##### XXXX

Sansa spent the next three weeks fixing up the castle. She mended draperies and replaced banners. She spent an hour each day stitching new robes for her and Jon. She sat with Jon anytime someone requested audience with the Lord of Winterfell, though she actually said very little. She didn't have to; it was Jon they wanted to see. Still, they sat side by side, a united front.

She spent her nights with Jon. It had become some sort of tradition. They'd meet in the feast room, though never formally planned, and they'd walk the castle grounds, her arm draped through his. They walked until the cold shook Sansa to her very core and then Jon would insist on returning to the castle. Jon would then escort her to her chambers and she'd insist he stay with her a little longer.

A little longer would turn into hours spent sitting on the floor by the fire, telling stories – both good and bad – and reminiscing about their very different childhoods. Eventually, Sansa would drift to sleep, stirring only when Jon carried her to bed and pulled the furs over her.

On this night, Sansa's eyes fluttered open as Jon covered her and kissed her forehead. She stared up at him as he hovered above her. It made her heart ache, seeing him like that. He reminded her of father so very much. Something stirred within Sansa, something warm and tender. The last time she'd felt it, she'd been in the Eyrie in Petyr's arms, his lips claiming hers. Reconciling that feeling to the feeling she was now having for Jon made her anxious and uneasy. She decided it was her appreciation for him, for the safety and relief he'd given her, that was making her stir in such a way.

She smiled and Jon returned the gesture automatically.

"You're taking care of me," she whispered.

"Aye. It's past time someone did," he replied. His eyes shone with affection and Sansa felt gratitude and relief overwhelm her. For the first time in six years, she was not holding her body rigid, aware of her every movement, every expression, every word. She was safe and free.

She pulled him down suddenly, wrapping her arms around him as she held him. Jon sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her into a sitting position as he hugged her back. She felt her body shake from the sobs that wanted to break free and, for once, she let them. And still he held her.

"Shh," he whispered, stroking her back as she sobbed. She gripped him tighter, her fingers digging into his leathers. Tears poured down her cheeks. Tears for the pain of the past six years, tears for her dead family, tears for the stupid girl she'd been, and tears of relief and joy for having Jon, her family, at her side.

When she was done, Jon pulled away slowly and Sansa wiped her face. She took a deep, steadying breath and then sighed, looking up at him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Jon said, automatically.

"Can you stay with me?" she asked. "Just for tonight."

Jon stared at her, his eyes darkening as he considered her request.

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Sansa. You're a young woman. Betrothed and promised to another."

"And you're my brother," she replied. "Please, Jon. I don't like being alone. You'd think I would after everything, but I feel safer with you here."

Jon kissed her forehead once more and then rose from the bed. He went to the door and opened it.

"Come on, boy," he said and Ghost entered the room. Sansa watched as Ghost jumped onto her bed and curled up at the foot, the heavy weight of him pressing against her legs.

"You're safe, Sansa, I promise. I'll leave you Ghost so you're not alone, but I can't sleep in here. Even if I want to."

Sansa nodded once and watched as Jon left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. She laid back and let her eyes stare at the nothingness above her. It was for the best, she knew. Even if they were siblings, it was unbecoming of a woman to have a man in her room. She told herself this over and over, ignoring the words that lingered at the edge of her mind:

_"Even if I want to."_

##### XXXX

When Jon awoke the next morning, his back ached and his ribs, still mending from the battle, screamed. He groaned and stood up slowly, rising from his spot outside Sansa's door. He stretched, looking up to see Lady Brienne staring at him from the end of the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. They stared at one another, Jon feeling guilty for some reason, and Brienne's expression as stormy as ever. Finally, she strolled forward, stopping in front of him.

"A raven came this morning," she whispered and handed the parchment to Jon. He took it and stared at the wax seal, seeing Robin Arryn's seal. He frowned and nodded his thanks before tapping on Sansa's door. He opened it and slipped inside, leaving Brienne waiting in the hallway.

Sansa still lay sleeping, her red hair fanned out on her pillow. Jon gazed at her, enjoying the peace etched across her features. His hand stretched out, gliding along the curve of her neck, his touch barely a whisper. Still, her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him, her eyes taking him in. She smiled sleepily and took his hand, drawing it to her chest as she curled into it. Jon would have laughed from the profound sweetness of the moment had he not been holding his breath. He stood that way, bent over her with his arm trapped in her grip, for several minutes before finally deciding to wake her once more.

"Sansa," he whispered and squeezed her hand. He felt the distinct swell of her breasts against the back of his hand as she pulled him closer still. A rogue part of him, somewhere in the darkest corner of his mind, wanted to press his hand more firmly against her curves. Instead, he cleared his throat and said her name again, louder this time.

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him. Her gaze moved down his arm until she found his hand pressed against her body and captured within her own. She released his hand quickly and drew herself into a sitting position in the bed.

"Good morning," she said, suffocating a yawn behind her hand.

"Good morning," he replied and held up the roll of parchment. "A raven came this morning. Sent from the Eyrie." He handed it to her and sat back on the bed watching as she broke the seal and unraveled it.

"It's from Robin," she whispered and glanced at him before reading it. Her face paled almost immediately and Jon's heart began to pound. "What is it?" he asked.

She handed it to him when she was done and climbed from the bed, pacing her room as he read. When Jon looked up at her, he wasn't sure whether to hug her or put his fist through the door.

"He had Petyr thrown through the moon door," Sansa said. "Because he had promised me to Robin and was going back on his word."

Jon let his eyes move over the small, unsightly script once more. His eyes lingering on certain lines.

_"My dear cousin, Sansa… Your marriage to Uncle Petyr… I made him fly, Sansa. You should have seen it… Now we can wed just as Uncle Petyr once promised… I'll set out for Winterfell in a week's time… Wed under your godswood… King and Queen… Prepare for my arrival and our wedding night… Yours in love, Lord Robin Arryn."_

"I'm going to be ill," Sansa said. "He promised me to Robin?"

Jon crumpled the parchment in his hand and rose from the bed, striding to Sansa. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.

"I won't let it happen," he said.

"At least with Petyr I knew what to expect. He loved me and would have cherished me along with the power. Robin… He's a child, Jon. He can't even carry a sword. Who knows what twisted games he'll want to play."

She shuddered and Jon pulled her against his chest, resting his chin on her head.

"I won't let it happen, Sansa. I promise. You will not wed him and you will not leave Winterfell."

"I can't do it again, Jon. I can't marry another man I don't know. Another man to do with me as he pleases." Sansa's voice began to raise, panic and hysteria threatening to take her. Jon stroked her hair, whispering his promises into her ear. Her body stilled suddenly and she pulled away from him, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her eyes were dark, her expression focused. She studied his face for a moment and then turned, pacing the room in front of him.

Jon watched her pace, hand held to her mouth as she whispered into it, glancing at him from time to time. Just when he could no longer stand it, Sansa stopped, turning to him.

"You can keep this from happening, Jon. There is a way for you to stop it and also legitimize yourself."

It did not take long for Sansa's meaning to sink in. He stared at her, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"You mean for me to wed you myself?"

"Think about it, Jon," she said, striding forward to take his hand. "You'll save me from Robin or anyone else who seeks my hand. You'll be a true Stark then and you'll be the true King in the North. No one would be able to contest your claim to Winterfell."

"You think I care about that?" He exclaimed, pulling his hand from hers. "You're my sister!"

"Family, Jon. You're my family. We were family before and we'd be family after. The Targaryen's used to –"

"I know what the damn Targaryen's used to do! But I'm not a Targaryen and I can't wed my own sister!"

Sansa began pacing again, her hand returning to her mouth as she moved about. Jon watched her, hands fisted at his side while his mind raced. Could he do that? Marry his sister? Take her to bed? After everything she'd been through, she deserved to be loved and cherished, not sold to yet another unfit husband. He groaned and turned away from her, walking to the window. He stared down at the snow-covered grounds below. He would come up with another plan. He would find a way; he had to.

Jon stiffened as he felt Sansa's arms snake around his middle, holding him from behind. He couldn't deny the comfort he felt when they were close like this. There had been many times over the past weeks when they'd found themselves in each other's arms. It was like they gravitated toward one another seeking safety and the love only they could share.

"Okay, Jon. I trust you. You'll find a way."

Jon rested his hand atop Sansa's and felt the breath he'd been holding go out of him in a rush. He nodded, holding her hands so tightly her arms gripped him tighter. He would find a way. He had to.

"He likely sent that raven yesterday. He said he would set out in a week. That means he would arrive here in about a month. We need to come up with a plan."

Jon turned in Sansa's arms, allowing his own to snake around her body and pull her against him.

"Push this from your mind, Sansa. Don't dwell on it; let me shoulder this burden for you."

Sansa nodded against his chest and when she spoke, her words were barely a whisper, though he heard her loud and clear.

"It wouldn't have been the worst thing, you know. You're the only one I trust; the only one I love. We could have ruled the North together, the Starks united."

"Aye, but I'm not a Stark," Jon whispered against her hair.

"You are to me."

Sansa pulled her head from his chest and looked up at him, her bright eyes searching his. Jon felt his gut twist when her eyes flickered to his lips for a split second before once again finding his eyes.

"Sansa." Her name was an odd, strangled sound upon his lips and he saw her eyes darken slightly before her face angled up toward him. Whether it was he who lowered his mouth to hers or she who raised up to meet him, Jon couldn't be sure. What he did know was they stood wrapped around one another, their lips molded together in the morning light. Tentative at first, neither of them moved, merely breathing each other in and testing the moment. In the back of Jon's mind, he was more than aware that this was his sister he held and shame mixed with pleasure and satisfaction.

Her arms lifted, hands tangling in his hair as he pressed forward. She pulled him closer and he lifted her, pulling her against his body before turning to press her against the wall. Sansa moaned into mouth and Jon was disarmed, giving himself to her. He held her against the wall and her legs wrapped haphazardly around his waist, her robes interfering some. Jon was aware of her hand as it reached down and pulled her dress up, freeing her legs to grip him tighter.

She gasped into his mouth when she felt him pressing against her, against her core. Jon felt her go rigid in his arms, her fingers releasing his hair almost immediately. He opened his eyes and stared down at her, taking in the scene. He released and backed away, leaving her back pressed against the wall, her arms still raised. Her eyes were vacant, Jon realized. Her expression void and lifeless. She had gone away, retreated inside herself and Jon, the fool that he was, realized why.

He took her by the face, settling his eyes before hers, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

"It's me, Sansa. It's Jon. You're safe. You're home and you're safe. Come back to me. Come back to me, Sansa. Please. I'm sorry."

Sansa blinked once, the light slowly returning to her eyes. She met his gaze and tears brimmed in her eyes. A sob choked her, the sound acting as a dagger to Jon's heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her arms slowly falling to her sides. She looked anywhere but at Jon and he released her face, allowing her space.

"No," he said. "It's my fault. I never should have… I'm sorry. So sorry."

Sansa sobbed and slid down the wall until she landed on her behind. Jon backed up until his feet hit her bed and he dropped down onto the end of it. His body was alive with the feel of her, his blood racing, nerves firing, his heart pounding in his ears. He hated himself for it.

"I can still feel him," Sansa said quietly. Her sobs had subsided and she looked up at Jon. Her lips were swollen and her hair frayed around her face. "When you… When I felt you there… I remembered."

Jon lowered his head into his hands, guilt and misery wracking him. He never should have touched her that way, but – perhaps even worse – when he did, he made her relive a horror he couldn't protect her from in the first place. His mind was cycling. Regret and shame screaming at him.

He jumped when her hands covered his and she knelt in front of him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks imprinted from the trail of her tears. She sniffled and then burrowed herself into his body, pushing her way into his arms from the floor. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Jon put his arms around her. He felt her breaths begin to slow as he held her.

When they parted, some minutes later, Jon helped Sansa to her feet and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. Sansa stared up at him, her hand on his arm.

"It wasn't all bad," she said as she combed her fingers through her hair. She offered him a weak smile and Jon saw the blood begin to return to her cheeks. "I've never been kissed like that before. I… I liked it. Until I didn't."

Jon turned away from her. He had liked it too, even as the guilt had raged within him. But he'd never touch her like that again. He swore to himself and to their father. He would keep her safe by any means and that included from himself.


	2. PART II

# PART II

Sansa and Jon stood at the gates of Winterfell. Ser Davos had already been sent ahead, knowing Jon would catch up with him quickly. It had taken the two of them merely an hour after Robin's raven arrived to come up with a plan. Jon and Ser Davos would travel to the Eyrie, hurrying their horses along the journey to cut down on the time. Jon intended to arrive in the Eyrie to thank Robin for sending his army to the Battle of the Bastards. He would feign ignorance of the raven sent to Winterfell claiming wedding rights to Sansa. It was important it look as though they had set out for the Eyrie long before the raven could have arrived, so they chose the fastest horses in Winterfell.

Jon carried gifts for the little Lord, including a sword fit for a king and stores of fur and leathers. While he took audience with Robin, Davos would seek out Lord Yohn Royce, whom Jon knew was acting guardian of the Lord of the Vale. Armed with a parchment baring Jon's own words and seal, Davos would attempt to arrange a pact with Lord Royce to overthrow the sickly boy who was unfit to rule. Sansa had little faith in the plan, because she had little faith in anyone other than Jon, but it was the best option they had now.

"If you're discovered," she said, hardly willing to imagine the repercussions.

"We won't be," Jon replied, shaking his head. "That's why I'm only taking Davos. More than that could be deemed an aggressive act."

"Still, if Lord Royce isn't agreeable…"

"Littlefinger tried to blame your sale to the Boltons on Lord Royce. He did so in front of Robin and his advisors. Word quickly spread and now Lord Royce's reputation has been blemished by those easily swayed by rumor. I'm sure he's eager to give the Vale back to a Lord fit to rule it."

Despite Sansa's desire to hope and trust in Lord Royce, foreboding still haunted her. She took a deep, steadying breath and steeled herself. Jon would be leaving Winterfell in her care. She had to be strong once more.

"Hurry home," she said, taking his hand. "Send a raven if you can. I'll be worried sick the moment you leave my sight until you stand before me once more."

"You worry too much as it is, Sansa. I'll be fine."

Sansa nodded and stared up at Jon. Sending him away so soon after retaking their home, so soon after being reunited, felt like madness. They stood in silence a moment longer before Jon took a deep breath. His horse nickered behind him and Jon took that as his cue to depart.

"Have Lady Brienne accompany you to any meetings, whether with Lord or peasant. Keep her close and call upon Tormund when you need him. I trust him. I've already asked him to look in on you from time to time."

Sansa nodded and watched as Jon stepped back, putting a hand on his saddle. He stilled for a moment and then turned back to his sister. The knot in Sansa's stomach rose to her throat and she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. Jon stepped forward one last time and put his hand behind her neck, pulling her toward him. Sansa felt her eyes close as Jon's lips pressed against her forehead.

Please, her mind whispered over and over. What she was asking for, she wasn't sure. His safety, for the plan to work, for his return, for him to change his mind and stay… Please.

Jon released her and stepped back, pulling himself onto his horse with one hand. When he was settled in place, he cast one last glance at Sansa before kicking off after Ser Davos.

Sansa watched long after he was gone, her heart pounding as snow fell upon her shoulders. She tried to imagine where he was at any given moment, calculating the speed of his horse along their chosen path. She anticipated the moment he would have caught up with Ser Davos and they would have raced forward in the snow, side by side. She almost wished he had taken Tormund with him, just to have one more person to help keep him safe, but she knew a Wildling being brought to the Vale probably wouldn't help their cause.

A heavy weight settled over Sansa's shoulders and she turned to see Brienne placing a second cloak over her. She smiled weakly and turned once more, looking into the distance where Jon had gone. They stood together in silence, Brienne's presence actually helping to calm Sansa.

"He slept on the floor outside your room last night," Brienne said, still staring ahead. "I found him there when I came with the letter this morning."

Sansa glanced at Brienne and felt her cheeks warm slightly. She didn't know he had stayed so close through the night. Affection swelled within her and she let her head fall forward, biting her lip to keep her smile at bay.

"He's quite thoughtful, isn't he, Brienne?"

"He is, my Lady."

Sansa cleared her expression and took a deep breath, turning to face Brienne. She was looking at Sansa as though there was something she was missing, which of course, she was, but Sansa offered no explanation. They walked back to the castle together, Brienne's heavy boots crunching in the snow. It was, Sansa found out, a sound that would accompany her every move from that day forward, as Brienne never left her side.

##### XXXX

Firm hands gripped Sansa's shoulders, shaking her awake. She rose with a start, looking at Brienne, who hovered over her, eyes wide. In the doorway behind her, Tormund stood holding a lit torch.

"We must move now, my Lady. Riders approach not more than a quarter mile away. They carry Vale banners."

Sansa flung herself from the bed, pulling a robe around her body as she followed Brienne and Tormund through the quiet castle, Ghost at her heel. Tormund led them, Brienne following closely behind Sansa. They did not speak until they were out of the castle. Sansa realized Tormund was leading her to the Wildling camp and knew Jon must have left instruction with him should something go wrong.

Suddenly, Sansa was overwhelmed by the fear that something had gone wrong. She had not heard from Jon since he'd left more than five weeks prior. No raven had been received and this was around the time Robin would have arrived according to his original correspondence. Had they captured Jon and Ser Davos? Taken them prisoner or worse?

Brienne saw Sansa to safety and then exchanged a glance with Tormund before running back to the castle.

"Where-?"

"She'll tell them you're gone. Say you went to… I actually don't know where. To the little girl that scares everyone."

"House Mormont?"

"Aye," he said as Sansa peeked out the tent, her eyes searching the darkness.

"No one would believe Brienne would stay behind. That she'd let me go by myself."

Tormund laughed and shook his head, running a hand over his bearded face.

"She said the same thing, but we can't very well have a wildling savage greeting riders, can we?"

The minutes passed so slowly Sansa thought she might wear herself out from pacing by the time Brienne returned. Her mind raced with all the possible reasons riders from the Vale could be coming at this hour; all the ways in which Jon's plan could have gone wrong.

"What if he's dead?" she said, turning to face Tormund. She could tell he'd thought it too, but hadn't wanted to say it.

"Then I get you out of here. I take you to the scary little girl and ask for her protection."

"No," she whispered. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I won't leave, even if everyone thinks I have."

"Jon said –"

"Well, he's not here is he? I'm the acting Queen in the North and I say there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

Tormund fell quiet and Sansa continued pacing until she heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching the tent. Tormund moved in front of Sansa, pushing her to the back of the tent as he stood, sword drawn. Ghost moved to his side, teeth bared and poised to attack. The flaps of the tent parted and Brienne entered. When Tormund realized it was her, he sheathed his sword and Sansa pushed past him.

"Well?"

"Your brother has returned, my Lady."

Sansa was running before Brienne had finished, stumbling in the deep snow several times. Her feet, barely covered in thin night shoes, carried her as fast as she could run. She could hear Brienne and Tormund running behind her, but she paid them no mind. Why would Jon have been accompanied by Knights of the Vale? Why hadn't he sent a raven? Was he injured?

She burst into his chambers, frozen and out of breath. Jon stood by the window, his cloak discarded, clad only in his leathers. Sansa threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jon caught her easily and lifted her off the ground, drawing her closer.

"Thank the gods," she whispered as they held each other.

Jon lowered her, setting her back down, though he made no moves to release her and she wouldn't have let him if he had. She stared at his face, thankful to see he didn't appear harmed.

"What happened? Why didn't you send a raven? Why did they come back with you?"

Jon stroked the side of her face, brushing her hair away from her eyes as he looked down at her. Sansa was vaguely aware of their audience, yet still she clung to him.

"There was no time. Robin was overthrown, unseated by his own advisors. The Eyrie is in uprising as those who supported Robin are screaming treason. Those who would see a true leader as their Lord have risen up. No one knows our role in the uprising, so we had to leave as quickly as we had come. Lord Royce felt it best if we were escorted home for our own protection. All anyone knows is we came bearing gifts for the little Lord."

"And Ser Davos? Is he okay?"

"Fine, my Lady," Ser Davos said, stepping forward. Sansa jumped in Jon's arms as she saw Ser Davos for the first time. "Thank you for asking."

Sansa nodded and turned back to Jon. "And my cousin?"

"Safe. Held in his chambers until a new Warden of the East is chosen, at which time he'll be dealt with."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief and felt her body relax. As she did, the cold began to shake her. Her wet bedclothes clung to her body, her feet frozen. Jon felt the shiver run through her body and he glanced down seeing the state of her.

"Come sit by the fire," he said and led her to the warmth.

"I'll boil some water for a bath," Brienne said, but Sansa shook her head adamantly. She wouldn't leave Jon's side.

"No, thank you, Lady Brienne. Tormund." She nodded at the free man and he returned the gesture before turning and striding from the room. Ser Davos followed behind him, but it was Brienne who remained. "I'm fine, Brienne, really." Sansa heard her teeth chatter and Brienne frowned before stepping back. She closed the door behind her and Sansa held her hands out in front of the fire while Jon pulled the soiled robe from her body and covered her instead in his cloak.

"Sit," Jon said and she lowered herself to the floor, watching him. He sat in front of her and pulled her feet into his lap, drying them with his furs and warming them with his hands. Her dressing gown still clung to her legs, soaked and covered with dirt, yet she made no move to change.

"What will happen now?" she asked.

"They'll declare a new Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East, and we'll ask them to pledge fealty to House Stark."

"And if the new Lord decides I'd make a fine wife?"

"Doesn't matter; he'll have no claim to you. You'd promised yourself to Baelish but he's gone now. Robin, in all his maturity, felt it was his right to claim you next. There would have been no reasoning with the child. It would have led to war. A new Lord would have to seek permission from your guardian."

"My guardian?"

"I'm older, I'm your brother, and I'm the King in the North."

Sansa smirked. "I thought you didn't want to be King?"

"I don't, but if it keeps you safe…"

##### XXXX

Jon awoke with a start, though he couldn't say what had woken him. He sat with his back against the fireplace, his legs stretched out in front of him. Sansa lay in his arms, her back pressed against his chest, her head on his shoulder. She had discarded his cloak hours earlier and Ghost now lay curled upon it near his feet. Yawning silently, Jon turned his head, staring into the orange flames burning in the fireplace.

Early morning sunlight had only just begun to fill the room and Jon knew they'd only been asleep for an hour or two. His body ached from the ride and his legs were sore from the position he'd fallen asleep in. Still, he held Sansa closely, not willing to wake her just yet.

Jon had learned a lot on his trip to the Vale. He already knew Cersei Lannister had destroyed the Temple of the Seven, murdering hundreds, including Queen Margarey. He knew Tommen had thrown himself from a tower and Cersei had named herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. What he didn't know until reaching the Vale was she had done all of it without the support of Jamie Lannister. She'd done it in his absence. When he had returned to find out what she'd done, she'd ordered him imprisoned. Apparently, Cersei wasn't willing to risk the Kingslayer's sword since she'd done exactly what the Mad King had threatened.

Somehow, Jamie and his sell sword had disappeared and Cersei had yet to find him. Now she sat on the Iron Throne and rumor had it, she was working with alchemists to produce more stores of Wildfire, which she planned to use on the Targaryen girl if she tried to take the throne. Jon couldn't help but wonder how effective Wildfire would be against an army that boasted three dragons.

Sansa stirred in Jon's arms, stretching and repositioning herself against him. Jon stroked her arm gently as his thoughts turned to their current situation. His conversation with Ser Davos on the ride to the Eyrie replayed in his head.

_"I have to protect her now. She's spent so long protecting herself; it's my turn. If this is the only way I can do it, then so be it."_

_Ser Davos nodded, but said nothing as they continued along. They had slowed their pace for the past hour to give the horses a break, but that break was almost over. Jon felt an overwhelming urge to talk to someone he could trust, sharing Sansa's proposition and the implications of it._

_"She wanted me to wed her," he said suddenly and Ser Davos' head turned in his direction. "She thought it the only way to keep Robin or any other Lord from doing so."_

_Davos nodded and cast his eyes ahead again, though still he said nothing._

_"Can you imagine what my father would have said? Me, wedded to her? My sister, taken by her bastard brother."_

_Jon scoffed and urged his horse on. Davos cleared his throat and glanced at Jon._

_"Perhaps it's not ideal, but I've seen worse."_

_"Worse?" Jon exclaimed. "You've seen worse than the bastard son of a Lord bedding his own sister?"_

_"I have. I've seen a woman give birth to a demon. Besides, she's your half-sister and you're the King in the North."_

_"It makes no difference if she's my half-sister or my full-sister of if I'm a jester or a Lord. It's not right. She's had enough injustices done to her; I won't add to it."_

_They rode in silence for several paces before Davos spoke again._

_"The Targaryen's…"_

_"Arghh!" Jon yelled and stilled his horse, turning to face him. "I'm not a bloody Targaryen, am I? And even if I were, she deserves better than that. She deserves to be loved and protected, cherished and honored. Not shamed by yet another husband."_

_"Seems she found spending her life with you preferable to being with another."_

_"Only because she knows I'd never harm her."_

_"But isn't that enough?" Davos said, leaning forward. "Isn't that the point? You'd keep her safe and protected. You two are already stuck to one another like glue. The love's there, Jon."_

_"Aye," he said. "The love's there, but it doesn't make it right."_

_"There's a lot that isn't right in this world, Lord Snow. Perhaps this is not one of those things."_

_"You sound as though you're in favor of my bedding my sister."_

_Davos winced and took a deep breath before turning his horse, guiding it forward once more._

_"That's not the part I'm advocating, necessarily. I'm just saying that there are worse things in the world. In some ways, she's right. You'd be strongest together and she'd be safe. In other ways, you're right. It's not ideal. You'll be met with opposition and whispers, but it doesn't matter. Not really. The real question is can you bring yourself to do it? Can you make her your wife and fulfill the duties of a husband?"_

_Jon frowned and followed Davos, his words playing in his head as he remembered their kiss. He could, he knew. His body could and his heart could, but his honor…_

_"I don't know."_

Sansa's hand reached up, touching the side of Jon's face.

"So serious," she said, mock pouting. Jon laughed and looked down at her.

"You're awake."

"Not really," she said. "It's just that your thoughts were so loud they woke me."

Sansa sat up slowly, stretching her back as Jon stretched his legs. She glanced at the window and frowned seeing it was already daybreak. She rose to her feet and Jon followed her. Only Ghost remained curled up on Jon's cloak, ignoring the morning.

"Break fast with me?" Sansa asked, looking at him expectantly. He was exhausted and in desperate need of real sleep, but his stomach also grumbled angrily. He nodded and roused Ghost from his sleep with a nudge to his hip.

"I'll let you get changed. Meet me in the feast room."

Jon and Ghost left Sansa in her chambers and made their way quietly through the castle. Jon was a little surprised to see Brienne wasn't posted outside Sansa's door. They had just made it out of the main corridor when Podrick ran up, catching Jon by the arm.

"A rider in the distance."

"Just one?"

"Yes, my Lord. He's not flying any banners."

Jon moved swiftly behind Podrick, Ghost at his side, as they charged out of the castle and through the yards. They reached the gates just in time to see Brienne and Tormund open them for the rider.

Jon slid to a stop several paces away and stared slack-jawed at his youngest sister. She dismounted her horse, landing with solid footing. A part of Jon's mind registered the fact that Needle hung from her hip.

"Gods," Jon heard himself say and he ran for her, catching her before she could take even a single step toward him. She was little. Far too skinny for a Lady, but she was by no means frail.

"Jon," Arya said and pushed him back suddenly, apparently to set her eyes upon his face. "I was at Riverrun. I heard you and Sansa had retaken Winterfell."

Jon knelt in front of her, holding her arms as he tried to reconcile the image of the teenage girl before him with the child he'd left behind. He looked over her shoulder at Brienne and nodded. She set out for the castle immediately, seeking Sansa.

"Why were you in Riverrun? How did you—"

"Arya!"

Jon managed to step aside just in time to avoid being shoved out of the way by Sansa. She nearly tackled her little sister and the two of them clung to each other as Jon had never seen them do. He had to take a step away to gather himself when he heard the two weep into each other's arms. His throat tightened and his eyes stung as he paced several meters away, hands on the back of his head.

"I'm so sorry," he heard Sansa breathe between sobs. "I never thought I'd get the chance to say those words to you. I was horrible."

Arya laughed and Jon heard her sniffle loudly.

"You were horrible. But I missed you anyway. I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."

Jon felt his knees give, his back still turned to the scene behind him. Emotion pressed down on him, suffocating him as he kneeled in the snow. He was still there, taking deep, steadying breaths when he felt his sisters, one at each side, lower themselves to the ground. He pulled them to him, hugging them as tightly as he could. They gripped him in return, each one sobbing on his shoulders. He kissed the side of Arya's head, whispering his thanks to the gods. He felt Sansa take his hand and he squeezed it, holding her close.

When they pulled apart, Jon's wits returned to him and he motioned toward Tormund, who shut the gates immediately and told Podrick to take Arya's horse to the stables.

"Inside," he choked out and rose, pulling the girls with him. The three of them walked together, arms around one another. Jon had never felt what he was feeling now. He'd spent so many years of his young life expecting the worst and getting something even more painful; he could hardly understand the joy and relief he felt now.

They collapsed in the feast room and Jon felt Arya nestle into his side as she had so many times when they were little.

"Why were you in Riverrun?" Jon asked again while Sansa held her sister's hand.

"Walder Frey was there," she replied simply. Jon glanced over his shoulder at Ser Davos who had just entered the room.

"Aye, he was." Jon said. "He died there."

"Yes, he did," Arya said and Jon knew. She'd been the one to kill him. "Have you heard about Cersei?" She said suddenly and Jon nodded. "And Bran? Rickon?"

Jon heard Sansa inhale sharply and he shook his head.

"We haven't heard anything about Bran. He may still be alive. Rickon… died in my arms two moons ago."

Arya's eyes darkened and she looked at Sansa, whose expression was vacant.

"Who?"

"Ramsay Bolton. He's dead now too."

"Good," Arya said.

"The Starks have returned to Winterfell," Ser Davos said.

##### XXXX

Sansa had made up Arya's old room for her, changing the bedding and draperies. She'd wanted to give her little sister time alone with Jon. They'd been closest as children and Sansa knew better to think Arya was happiest to see her. It made her heart soar to think of it – the pair of them reunited. They'd always been as thick as thieves. Wherever he'd been, chances were, Arya was nearby. She was the one who argued with their mother the most when Jon wasn't allowed to sit with them at the feast table or join them for games.

When Sansa was done preparing Arya's room, she set about to find suitable clothes for her. Warmth was the priority, as well as functionality. Sansa had no idea when they would find themselves having to ride or, should it come to it, defend the castle. She found plenty of cloaks and furs she would be able to tailor for her sister easily enough. It was riding pants she was having a hard time with. She knew her sister would prefer pants to a dress any day. It was, she realized with a smirk, one thing that hadn't changed. And for once, Sansa had enough since to know it didn't matter if Arya dressed like a properly lady. She'd dress like a Stark.

Arya found her a time later, sorting through materials and separating what she could use from what she couldn't. She had cleaned up, Sansa was happy to see. Arya threw herself down on Sansa's bed, her legs dangling off the side while she watched Sansa.

"Jon was falling asleep. Tormund finally made him go to bed. I like him, Tormund. He promised to duel with me later."

Sansa laughed out loud and looked at her sister, who looked deeply satisfied.

The sisters sat together on Sansa's bed, telling each other all their stories. Arya had survived just as much as Sansa, she discovered. She'd been protected and helped by the most unexpected people, just as Sansa had. She'd also been betrayed as Sansa had. More than once, the sisters had cried together, clutching each other's hands. The first time was when Arya told Sansa she'd been at their father's beheading. Sansa had secretly hoped Arya had been spared all that.

They cried together again when Sansa told Arya about Jon's murder. Apparently he had failed to mention it to his little sister. Arya wept while they reminisced about baby Rickon and laughed when they made up wild stories about where Bran had gotten off to.

They spent the day together in Sansa's room, only leaving to join the others for dinner. Still, Jon slept. A part of Sansa missed him and looked for him any time someone entered the room. The other part of her was glad to have the time with Arya and happier still that Jon was finally getting rest.

It was well after sundown when Sansa and Arya parted ways for the night. Sansa had escorted Arya to her room and then, once her door was closed, she slipped into Jon's room.

He was still asleep, furs cast aside and his body uncovered. Sansa wondered briefly how much colder it had been at the wall than in Winterfell, despite Winter's arrival. She found her way to his bed, moving slowly and quietly since the only light in the room was a small oil lamp that burned near the window.

When she lowered her body to his bed, Jon stirred but didn't wake. Sansa held her breath as she rolled onto her side and placed her hand on his chest, watching him sleep. The more her eyes adjusted to the dark, the more clearly she was able to see him. She studied him, learning the lines of his face, picking out sporadic blond hairs scattered in his dark beard. She wanted desperately to trace her fingers over his skin, but she did not dare move.

"Am I that pretty?"

Jon's voice startled Sansa and she began to draw her hand back, but Jon grabbed it, holding it against his chest.

"How's Arya?"

"She's good," Sansa said. "She's been through a lot, Jon. It seems all the Stark children have been."

"Aye," Jon said, his eyes still closed.

"I missed you today. I kept waiting for you to walk through the door or send Ghost to me, but you never did."

Jon smiled but didn't say anything, only caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

Jon opened his eyes, staring straight ahead for a moment before turning his head to look at her. Sansa held her breath as he stared at her. After an eternity, he finally nodded his head and Sansa felt the air rush out of her. She snuggled down against him, laying her head on his chest. Jon's arm slowly came to wrap around her body, his hand resting on her hip.

"Just for tonight," Jon said and Sansa nodded against his chest. She felt her body relax almost immediately and her mind cleared, bringing her peace as she drifted to sleep.

She woke a few hours later as Jon worked to disentangle their limbs from one another. Their legs were woven together and her arm was thrown across his stomach. He stopped moving when he felt her breathing change and she raised her head off his chest, looking at him. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead before pulling his legs from hers. He rose from the bed and bent down, stroking the side of her face.

"Go back to sleep, beauty."

Sansa covered his hand in hers and smiled, letting herself slip into darkness once more.

##### XXXX

Two days later, Jon and Sansa sat in the dark in the great Great Hall, a fire roaring at their backs. They had chosen this room because no one ever went into it unless a meeting was called between the Houses. They sat side-by-side on the floor, arms pressed against one another, while Sansa mended one of his cloaks and Jon poured over all the letters he'd found in Ramsay's desk. The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire and the crinkle of parchment.

They'd decided to find a space that would be just for them after Arya had returned. It wasn't that they weren't happy to have her home; they were overjoyed. But her arrival had signaled the end of their quiet time together. Their evenings by the fire in Sansa's room had come to an end and Jon had rebuffed her when she'd tried to sneak into his room in the middle of the night. He couldn't share a bed with her after inciting a rebellion within another House to avoid having to share a bed with her. Plus, he knew it was just a matter of time before they were discovered wrapped around one another.

"Ouch," Sansa muttered, dropping her needle and thread. Jon looked over at her, putting the letters aside. She held her finger, squeezing a droplet of blood from the tip. Jon frowned and pulled her hand toward him. He blotted the blood on his furs and then put her finger in his mouth, stemming the flow of blood. Sansa's sharp inhale gave him pause and he dropped her hand automatically.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I did that."

Sansa laughed gently, a flighty sound that made the awkwardness of his act less relevant. He smiled at her and she smirked, running her fingers through his beard before returning to her needlework.

Still, Jon watched her.

"You're staring," she said after a moment, her voice laced in amusement.

"Aye," he said.

"Why are you staring?"

"I spent six years surrounded by men, blood, and death. I can't help but stare, beauty."

Sansa's hands stilled and she looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed pale pink and her gaze strayed to his lips before finding his eyes again. She lifted her hand to the side of his face and Jon laid his hand over hers.

"Jon," she whispered before leaning toward him slightly. Jon felt his body responding to the change in the air between them. He wanted desperately to pull her to him and press his lips against hers until neither of them had a breath left in their lungs. He wanted to take her on the floor where they sat, only the flames within the fireplace witness to their union. He wanted to taste her, everywhere, and fall asleep with her warm, naked body draped over his own.

He reached for her, placing his hand on her neck, their gazes locked. Her breath hitched at his touch and Jon allowed his eyes to lower, seeing her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.

"Jon," she whispered again and he dipped his head, lowering his lips to her neck. Somewhere in his mind, he rationalized this by telling himself he wasn't actually kissing her. Shadow and light danced across the swell of her breasts and Jon felt his hand grip the side of her neck more firmly. Her breathing quickened as Jon's kisses, feather light, covered her pale skin. Her hand moved to the back of his head, her fingers exploring his curls.

When he pulled back, a small moan of protest escaped Sansa's lips and Jon covered them with his own, silencing her. She gripped him then, pulling at his hair. Jon heard himself groan into her mouth and he twisted his body, drawing her closer. She kissed him with abandon and slid into his lap.

There, silhouetted by the fire, wrapped around one another and lost in love, Jon felt Sansa open herself up to him. This time there was no hesitation or fear in her motions and Jon ran his hands up her back, the scent of her invading his very core. Her tongue moved against his and he held her, one hand on her neck and one hand on her lower back, pressing her against his body.

She broke the kiss suddenly, her head rolling back as she moved her hips against him. Jon knew she felt his desire pressing into her and yet she didn't pull away from him. This knowledge was almost his undoing. Instead, he watched her rock back and forth in his lap, her hands still buried in his hair as her arms rested on his shoulders.

"Sansa," he whispered and she moaned her response. He kissed her exposed neck, lips moving over the sensitive skin along her jawline. "Beauty," he whispered into her ear and she gripped him tighter.

A scratch at the door stilled them and they both turned, looking at the door to the Great Hall. Another scratch sounded, followed by a whine they both recognized to be Ghost's.

"Did you find them, boy?"

They heard Arya's voice, although faint, through the door on the other side of the hall and scrambled away from one another. Sansa picked up her needlework and Jon grabbed for the discarded letters. They had barely stilled when Arya opened the door, casting light upon them.

Ghost ran into the room and immediately ran to Jon's side, sniffing him expectantly. Despite himself, Jon whispered "good boy" and patted the wolf on the head.

"What're you two doing in here?" Arya asked, strolling forward.

Jon heard Sansa huff quietly and he nudged her leg with his foot. She cleared her expression and looked up at her sister.

"Everywhere else is so loud and… occupied," Sansa said. "We needed a couple hours of peace."

Jon smiled at Arya as she sat down on the table nearest them, hoping it was more of a smile than a grimace. Sansa returned to her needlework and Arya called Ghost to her, stroking his fur.

"I thought we might take a ride, Jon. Doesn't have to be far, but…"

Jon glanced at Sansa, whose hands had paused, and then looked up at Arya. She stared at him expectantly, hopefully. For the briefest of moments, Jon wondered if father had sent her to interrupt what was happening in front of the fire.

He stood, putting his arm around Arya's neck. He pulled her off the table and drug her along at his side while she pretended to punch him in the side.

"You weigh less than I do," he said to his little sister. "Don't even think about racing. You have a built in advantage."

Arya groaned and punched him harder, maybe evening meaning it.

Jon looked over his shoulder at Sansa right before leaving the room. She met his stare and offered a soft smile, which he readily returned.

##### XXXX

Sansa had moved to and from within the castle as a ghost the rest of the day. Wandering aimlessly as she replayed her moments in front of the fire with Jon. She hadn't seen Jon or Arya return from their ride and she had checked with Ser Davos many more times than she probably should have. She'd wandered the courtyard, pausing only to watch Tormund train Podrick in hand-to-hand combat. She had made her way to the godswood where she'd whispered her thoughts to her parents. She told her mother she was wrong about Jon and how Sansa wished she hadn't let her mother's hatred for him influence her own thoughts. She missed out on so many years of bonding with him.

She begged her father's forgiveness for their shameful acts, very nearly promising they wouldn't do it again, but biting her tongue instead. She talked about Arya and how she was the same girl she had been, only fiercer. She promised to look after Arya this time and treat her as a sister should, with acceptance and love rather than imposing her own will upon her. She talked for a long time , only returning to the castle when the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Sansa made her way quietly to her chambers, walking through the dark and empty halls while her thoughts raced. She nearly screamed when an arm darted out of the shadows, grabbing her. Jon's hand settled over her mouth, silencing her until she realized it was him. She clutched his robes and inhaled sharply when she saw the look in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been hiding here, waiting for you?"

Sansa shook her head and bit her bottom lip, her heart racing automatically. Jon smirked and kissed her hard, his hands pulling her body flesh against his. Sansa melted into him as her hands moved under his cloak, forcing themselves under his leathers to clutch him closer still. He tasted of Wildling ale and something, she realized, that was intrinsically Jon. It set her nerves afire.

Sansa broke the kiss as Jon's hands rested upon her breasts. She lowered her lips to his neck, kissing him the same way he had kissed her there.

"Seven hells," Jon hissed. Sansa smirked, rather enjoying the power she had when it came to tempting him.

Footsteps stilled them both, hidden in the shadows, arms wrapped around one another. They listened as the heavy footsteps approached and then passed them.

"Brienne," Jon whispered into Sansa's ear, her face still buried in his furs, her lips against his neck. She resumed her kisses, allowing her tongue to taste his salty skin. Jon gripped her harder still, holding them hidden in the shadows as Sansa sucked a spot on his neck just below his ear. Brienne's returning footsteps stole Jon's breath, yet still Sansa continued.

"Sansa," he urged, meaning to give her pause. Yet Sansa felt as though she'd burst into flame if she stopped. Brienne passed unknowingly and Jon released a breath he'd been holding when they could no longer hear her footsteps. He spun Sansa suddenly, holding her against the wall as he attacked her lips hungrily.

"Madness," he said between kisses. "This is madness." Sansa moaned in reply and felt her legs grow weak as Jon lowered himself slowly down her body. He peppered kisses along her jawline and neck, over the swell of her breasts. He paused when he found one of her nipples hardened and pushing through her dress. The feel of his teeth biting down on it made Sansa moan loudly and Jon's hand snaked up quickly, covering her mouth.

Yet still he continued lower until he was pushing her dress up, his hands gliding along her bare legs and up her toward her thighs.

Sansa felt the cold chill of dread begin to take her and she fought hard, praying to the gods not to let it. Jon pressed a kiss to the side of her knee and a sob escaped Sansa's lips. He froze immediately and pulled away from her, looking up from where he knelt before her. Sansa held a hand to her mouth, trying so hard to keep the tears and shaking at bay, yet she could not. As Jon rose to his feet before her, her mind flashed, spinning and tumbling into a world of Ramsay's torture.

Jon kissed her forehead as Sansa worked to stifle her sobs and lifted her into his arms, carrying her down the corridor to her room. He deposited her in front of the fire and went back to close the door.

When he faced her once more, Sansa saw confusion and shame etched across his features. It made her sob harder, burying her face in her hands. She felt Jon sit down beside her, yet he made no moves to pull her into his arms, apparently giving her space. Sansa replayed the scene in the hallway over and over. Everything had been fine until Jon had gotten so close to her thighs. The scars from Ramsay's games had not yet fully healed. Sansa wasn't sure if they ever would and the closer Jon's hands had gotten to feeling the sharp, jagged lines raised on her skin, the closer she had gotten to reliving it.

When her sobs had finally died away and her body no longer shook from the force of her memories, Sansa risked a glance at Jon. He sat beside her, staring into the fire, his hands clenched into fists. Sansa laid her hand over one of his and felt it relax immediately.

"I wish I could bring him back from the dead just to see him ripped apart again," Jon said darkly. Sansa sighed and allowed her head to fall forward. They sat together, arms pressed together, her hand on his, but said nothing more.

Sansa's door burst open suddenly and Jon looked up to see Davos scan the room. When his eyes found them, he strode forward.

"Apologies, Your Grace. Riders approach. Wearing Lannister colors, but flying no banners."

Jon was on his feet running from the room, hand on his sword. He looked back over his shoulder, already in the hall and nodded at Davos who was about to follow.

"Keep her here. Keep her safe."


	3. Part III

# Part III

Jon's fingers tightened around Jamie Lannister's neck. Brienne held her sword to Bronn's throat, though she looked absolutely horrified and conflicted. Tormund stood at Jon's peripheral, clearly uncertain of the scene unfolding before him. Still, Jon's rational mind warred with his primal side. This man and his family had caused the Starks so much pain and misery. When he thought of Sansa's tales of her time in King's Landing, it only made his grip tighten further.

Jamie offered little to no resistance. His hand, the real one, kept slapping the back of Jon's and he thought he heard the word "please" or "peace" trying to escape from his strangled neck. Still, Jon held him.

"You've got more balls than I thought, Kingslayer, riding into Winterfell without an army. Or are they right behind you? Have you come here to take the North in the hopes your sister will let you live? The North will not kneel today, Lannister scum, though the same cannot be said for you."

Jon released Jamie and threw him to the ground. The Kingslayer crumbled before him and made no moves to rise, despite Jon wishing he'd give him a reason to slit his throat. He stepped back and drew his sword, twisting the pommel in his hand before holding it out in front of his body.

"Everyone used to say you were the best swordsman in Westeros. I'd like to see how you fare with just the one hand now. On your feet."

"My Lord, if I may, perhaps we should hear why he's come first."

Jon looked over at Brienne, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. Of course he had noticed she carried the Kingslayer's sword, but he had thought she'd bested him and took it by force. Now he was unsure. Jon turned his gaze back to Jamie, sword still out held.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I've got nowhere else to go."

Jon laughed, disbelief stealing some of his anger.

"And what made you think Winterfell was an option?"

"We share a common goal. To see Cersei removed from the Iron Throne." Jamie sighed, rubbing his neck with his good hand. His eyes flickered to Brienne, who still held her sword at Bronn's throat. He offered her a sad smile and then set his eyes back on Jon.

"Despite popular belief, I do have some values. They're perhaps few and far between, but they exist nonetheless. What she's done… It's not justifiable no matter how you look at it. My children are dead and my brother is gone. I've got no one to help me. No one I can trust and no army at my side. I came here because she'll turn her sights on you next. She still blames your sister and my brother for Joffrey's death. She'll want to destroy anyone who could challenge her claim to the throne or who would seek to unseat her. So," he said, taking a deep breath. "That's why I'm here. I've got nowhere else to go."

Jon said nothing. He stared at Jamie, his words playing through his mind. He was still weighing his options when he heard Sansa's voice, clear and strong at his side.

"Brienne, Tormund, escort the Kingslayer and his companion to a cell – make that two cells far from one another. See to it they have bread and water to last the day and station six guards, three at each of their cells. If they resist or try to escape, cut them down."

Jon looked at his sister, taking in her steel gaze. She stared at Jamie, eyes cold and dark, head held high. She looked and sounded like a Queen.

Brienne and Tormund moved quickly, Brienne escorting Bronn while Tormund grabbed Jamie by the arm, pushing him ahead. Bronn slowed to a stop as they passed Sansa. Jon noticed he looked pleased to see her, which confused him to no end.

"My Lady," Bronn said, drawing Sansa's attention. "The Demon Monkey would be proud to see you now. I'm glad to see you, myself. A little intimidated, I admit, but glad nonetheless."

Sansa offered him a small smile and placed her hand on his arm. She had told Jon of the days she spent married to Tyrion and the way he cared for her. She had learned many things from him during that time and he'd gone out of his way to try to make her comfortable in an awful situation. He was, despite all of the horrors she'd endured under Joffrey's reign, one of the only reasons she'd survived.

"Tyrion?"

"No word, My Lady. Escaped after murdering his father. We think he found his way across the Narrow Sea to the Dragon Queen."

A small laugh escaped Sansa's lips and Jon saw some life return to her eyes.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I remain in his debt even to this day."

"Might I suggest, My Lady, as a means of repaying some of that debt, you might consider protecting his brother as Tyrion protected you."

Sansa's expression steeled once more and she nodded at Brienne, who pushed Bronn forward. Jon watched them go and then turned to face his sister, Davos standing behind her. She met his eyes and Jon was reminded once more why she weakened him so.

"Gather everyone together. We need to discuss how to handle this."

She turned, marching back to the castle and Jon stared after her, a smirk spreading across his lips. Her red hair was drawn into a single braid over her shoulder and her cloak swayed behind her. She was magnificent.

"I've been dispatched to gather the council together, Ser Davos. King in the North, my arse."

Davos chuckled and Jon did the same, feeling any remaining tension within him draining away, and they set out to gather Brienne, Tormund, and Arya.

##### XXXX

"Podrick has selected two men and left the castle to scout the surrounding areas. Jamie ensured Tormund he brought no army with him, but I felt it best to be certain."

Sansa sat beside Jon, Davos at his side and Tormund, Brienne, and Arya closing the rest of the circle. Brienne looked far more stern than usual, Sansa noted, watching her speak. Sansa had yet to say anything for she hadn't yet needed to. Jon and Brienne had done most of the talking.

"You swear he's a honorable man at heart, yet you distrust him enough to send scouts?" Jon leaned forward toward Brienne and she held his gaze.

"I do trust him, My Lord, but my duty is to House Stark and I determined sending scouts a necessity in fulfilling that duty."

"And where does your loyalty to Jamie Lannister lie? You seem rather fond of him. You carry his sword…"

Sansa watched Brienne's face flush slightly. She glanced down at her hands before fixing her gaze upon Jon once more. Tormund sat at her side, rapt with attention.

"He saved my life. More than once, in fact. He had no responsibility to me and no reason to protect me the way he did, yet when I was to be brutalized, he stopped it. When I was thrown in a pit to battle a bear, he came back for me. He could have left me to the will of the gods, yet he came back and pulled me out of that pit. He gave me his sword, My Lord, so that I might fulfill my oath to Catelyn Stark: To find and protect her daughters. I have pledged my sword to Sansa Stark and her family; with her my loyalty lies. You have my protection only because she wills it. Beyond that…"

Brienne's voice seemed to falter. She sat back in her seat, leveling her eyes upon Jon. Sansa saw such adamant resolve in Brienne's eyes. She was standing up to Jon in her own way, Sansa realized.

"Beyond that, I would give my life for Jamie Lannister."

Jon sat back, his arm brushing Sansa's. Beneath the table, she placed her hand on his and squeezed before speaking.

"We know Cersei hunts him. We've known for months that she feared his honor so much she sought to murder him rather than lose her crown. We all know the level of love they have held for one another, yet still she knew his honor would call for him to see her removed from the throne. If what he says is true, if she'll turn her attention to us next, it would be wise to prepare. We could use Jamie Lannister in those preparations and we could use him on the battlefield."

"You'd have him wield a sword?"

Sansa looked at her brother and then looked around at the group once more.

"Jamie Lannister has been called the greatest swordsman alive; even with just the one hand, he's still worth something. He led an army to Riverrun and took back the castle from the Blackfish."

"Your mother's home, I might remind you. Your own kin died in that siege."

Sansa sighed and turned, facing Jon. She held his hand under the table, embracing it between both of hers in an attempt to calm his temper.

"Yes, my mother's home. He joined forces with the men who murdered my mother and brother. I'm not saying I trust him or particularly like him. I'm saying we can use him. We'd be fools to turn away the man who knows Cersei better than anyone. A former member of the King's Guard who knows the way their army works and what their weaknesses are. Besides, he gave the Blackfish the opportunity to leave unharmed, but the old man was too stubborn to do it."

"Think of the Northern Houses, Sansa. How many of them have been betrayed by the Lannisters? Maybe the Kingslayer wasn't directly responsible for all of those betrayals, but he was for many and he's a Lion nonetheless. How do you expect those Houses to support us when we're allied with a Lannister?"

Sansa stared at Jon, his words playing in her head. He had a point, she knew, but she also knew that they were at an advantage, having a Lannister in Winterfell. He could tell them things no one else could. _And,_ she thought as her mind turned to Tyrion, _not all Lannisters are monsters. If he has even a tenth of the amount of honor Tyrion has, he's worth something._

"I will be held responsible for him. This is my decision, Jon. You wanted me to be Queen in the North. Well, now I have something to say. I'll send ravens to House Mormont and the others. They pledged their loyalty to House Stark. This will be the first test of that pledge."

For the first time since Arya had been invited to join them for the council meetings, she spoke, rising from her seat.

"He killed Jory. He would have killed father the same day if not for his desire for a clean kill. He's a monster just like his sister. He may have a few redeeming qualities, but he's a Lannister. If you want to use him, use him. Keep him alive until Cersei is dead and then I'll put Needle through his eye myself."

Sansa saw Brienne pale and a part of her genuinely felt sorry for her. Brienne had proven herself to be a woman of honor and strength. Everything she did, she did because her conscience required it. If somehow this woman had fallen in love with the Kingslayer, it meant there was something there worth loving. Sansa understood what it meant to fall for someone the world would not allow her to love. She understood it well.

Jon stared at Sansa, searching her face. She could see the battle waging in his mind and the moment it was over, she knew the outcome.

"We'll provide clean quarters and food to the Kingslayer and his sell sword. For the time being, at least, they'll be confined to those quarters. Neither of them shall carry a sword, nor shall they accept visitors other than those in this room. We'll figure out later what role, if any, he should have in any wars to come."

A knock sounded at the door and Arya, who was already standing, went to open it. She came back holding a rolled up parchment and handed it to Jon. Sansa looked down at his hands and felt Jon stiffen beside her.

"It's from Castle Black."

Jon cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment, his eyes flying over the words written there. Sansa couldn't read it from her angle, though she saw the rough script contained only a few lines. When Jon looked up, his eyes took hers and a grin spread slowly across his lips.

"It's Bran. He's at Castle Black. Howland Reed's daughter is with him."

Sansa was on her feet, her chair knocked to the ground carelessly, Jon stood at the same time. Arya nearly collapsed across from them, steadied by Brienne. Jon and Sansa stared at one another and then the laughter came. She threw herself into Jon's arms and he pulled her close, laughing in her ear.

"He's alive. There's four of us still. He's alive."

Sansa repeated her words over and over, a chant in Jon's ear while he laughed and held her. When she pulled back, she looked up at his jubilant face, tears of joy blurring her vision.

"Bran's alive," she whispered, putting her hand on the side of Jon's face. He covered her hand with his own and nodded.

"Aye," he said, laughter and relief still etched across his face. "He's alive."

Sansa felt a hysterical laugh rise in her throat and her hand slid to the back of Jon's neck. She pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his as his arms wrapped around her back and held her close. He kissed her with abandon, his tongue moving against hers as she clutched him to her. She was breathless by the time Jon released her and pressed his forehead against hers. Their euphoria was suddenly doused in cold water by the sound of Arya's voice.

"Seven hells," she muttered.

Jon stumbled back several feet as though thrown by invisible hands. Sansa felt her face burn hot with embarrassment and shame as she turned to look at their audience. Tormund stared wide eyed between the two, his expression neither judgmental nor disapproving. For a moment, Sansa thought perhaps she even picked up on a hint of awe. Brienne held her eyes anywhere but at Sansa and Davos had his gaze downcast respectfully.

It was Arya who stared at them as though they were mad.

"Have the two of you lost your minds?"

Jon ran the back of his hand over his mouth and glanced at Sansa. She frowned and then turned to look at her sister.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? You know damn well what. You kissed him! He kissed you! The two of you all smashed together like that."

"You're being dramatic," Sansa heard herself say. She was fumbling for a way to explain it away or make it seem totally normal.

Arya scoffed and looked at the others for back up, though none of them met her gaze. Jon took a few steps forward and put his hand out for Arya's. She looked at him, Sansa's own confusion reflected on her face.

"Take a ride with me," Jon said. Arya hesitated for a moment and then walked past him, pulling her cloak over her shoulders.

"Let's go then," she said and then they were gone.

##### XXXX

"It just happened," Jon said, guiding his horse along the path beside his sister. She had said very little since they'd left, allowing Jon to fill the silence with his explanations.

"Something… shifted between us. From the moment she arrived at Castle Black, I felt like I could breathe again. All the bad stuff of the past, the fighting, the betrayals, the pain… It all seemed to dull once she arrived. I didn't feel so alone anymore. For the first time in years, I felt like maybe there was a purpose in my being alive."

Jon glanced at Arya and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I know it's wrong, Arya. Father would have my head. All I want to do is keep her safe and protect her. Somehow in all my efforts to do so, it led us to this point."

"What is 'this point' exactly? Are you…? I mean, what are you?"

"I don't know," Jon replied honestly. "I don't think there's a word for it. We're not together, yet sometimes it feels like we are. We're best friends, but that seems too insignificant even. She's like…"

Jon groaned, searching for the right words. It was all such a delicate situation and not even what he fully supported. The shame he carried each day was such a heavy weight sometimes he felt he could not breathe. Yet the feeling of staying away from her, of denying their affections… It was like dying all over again.

"I should be dead, Arya. I shouldn't be here riding a horse with you right now. I should be ash in the snow. But I was brought back, most likely just to die again in some other battle. That's all it's been: fighting, death, and pain. If I can feel alive, even for just a short time, I want that. And that's what she gives me: life."

Arya brought her horse to a stop, turning to face Jon. She looked so young, Jon realized, with her big sad eyes and hair swept from her face. Despite how grown up she acted and how much she'd been through, she was still his baby sister.

"I used to be your favorite," she said quietly. "We were the two who were inseparable. Now I always find you two together or can't find you at all. I miss being your shadow. You were like my secret. No one knew how good you were except me. I was the only one you ever let your guard down around. Even as close as you were to Robb, you were always competing with him."

Jon stared at Arya, his mind playing through their years together as children. She was always running after him, less than half his size and still more brave than he.

"You know it's not okay. You and her together. She's your sister as much as I am even if you never acted like it. But you'll face resistance from far more important people than me. Just be careful, Jon. Be careful of others and what will happen if rumor spreads and be careful for yourself. This can only end badly and I don't want to see you hurt."

The heavy weight in Jon's stomach rose into his throat. He nodded and looked away from his sister's knowing eyes.

The only thing he could do, the only way to make sure no one found out and avoid those consequences, was to stop it now before it spun out of control.

##### XXXX

Brienne had remained in her seat long after the room emptied. She knew she should be concerned for Sansa, but for just the moment, she allowed herself to focus on her own emotions first. She'd never felt more conflicted in her life. Seeing Jamie like this, a broken man with nothing left to lose thrown into a prison cell, was almost more than she could stand. She'd never quite understood his relationship with his sister. She had tried to reconcile the man she'd come to know with the Kingslayer the whisperers spoke of. She'd been unsuccessful. No matter how she looked at him, she saw only her friend.

She rested her hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper. In her mind, it was and would always be Jamie's sword. She traced her fingertips over the lion's mane, her mind wandering to the times they'd spent together years ago. She replayed his confession in the bath, remembering the moment she realized just how much he loathed behind called Kingslayer. She recalled their farewell at the Bolton camp when Jamie set out for King's Landing and she was forced to stay behind.

One of the strongest memories of all was the weight of her regret when she was thrown into the pit to battle a bear. She knew she would never fulfill her oath to Catelyn Stark. She could still remember the feel of the blood running into the bodice of the dress she'd been forced into under Roose Bolton's care. For some reason, the feel of the warm blood dripping between her breasts had stayed with her after all this time.

Most of all, she recalled the way Jamie had jumped into the pit unarmed and stood between her and the bear. She recalled the way he hunched over so she could use his back as a step to climb up the wall. She remembered the fear, the stifling, desperate fear she had when she tried to pull him from the pit, the bear at his heels. He had risked his life in so many ways to save her and take her with him to King's Landing. Her heart clenched at the thought of it.

Brienne was on her feet in an instant. When she arrived at Jamie's cell, he was already being re-located to private chambers by Tormund and Davos. Her eyes met Jamie's as she hovered behind them, watching as he and Bronn were escorted from the dark quarters. When they reached Jamie's new room, there were already three guards posted, waiting. Tormund took Bronn to his room and Ser Davos nodded, leaving Jamie in Brienne's care.

She stood just inside the door, watching as Jamie surveyed his room. When his eyes finally found hers, Brienne felt the weight on her chest release a little.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said. "They could kill you."

"I had nowhere else to go. Those who were aligned with my family are still loyal, probably out of fear, to Cersei. I know I'm not going to survive this, Brienne. I knew that the second I saw her sitting on the damn throne. At least coming here I knew I could do some good. I could warn you, maybe even be of some use. And I could see you once more."

Brienne stared at him, fighting to maintain her composure despite the effect his words had on her.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said again, her voice barely a whisper. "But I'm glad you did. I'm glad you really are the man I thought you were."

"And who is it you think I am, Brienne?"

Jamie stepped forward, standing in front of her. He still wore his armor, the lion on his chest roaring in defiance. Brienne studied him, her eyes lingering briefly on his golden hand.

"You're Jamie," she said.

Jamie laughed and ran his hand through his short hair. His eyes lit up with amusement, though Brienne failed to see the mirth in the situation.

"I suppose I should have known better than to expect you might give me a little sentimentality to make me feel better."

"You want sentimentality? Never been very good at that," she muttered to herself.

She walked past him, looking around his small chambers. She hadn't been in this room before, but it looked like it had been living quarters for a child at some point. The bed was small, though it was covered in heavy furs. There was no desk or chair, but a small bureau for changing clothes stood in the corner. She walked to the window and looked out, determining where his window was in relation to hers. When she turned back around, she found Jamie leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest while he watched her.

"Here's what I know," she said, tracing Oathbreaker's pommel once more. "You've done despicable things. Catelyn Stark told me about your confession regarding her son. You threw him from a window to cover up your secret and paralyzed the child. You've been on the wrong side of wars and you've used people for your own means. You've murdered innocents, your own kin included. Perhaps worst of all, you've allowed yourself to be a puppet for your family."

Jamie winced and Brienne saw shame in his eyes.

"But you've done great things too. You saved thousands when you put your sword through the Mad King. You saved me more times than I'd like to admit, nearly sacrificing your life for mine. You gave me your sword and helped me fulfill my oath to Catelyn Stark. You sent me away to protect Sansa and you allowed me safe passage at Riverrun when anyone else would have laughed in my face. You gave the Blackfish the opportunity to live and bring his army to Sansa. And now you're here, turning your back on your family and love because it's the honorable thing to do. You'll likely die in the North, yet you came anyway."

Jamie's features relaxed a bit and he stared at Brienne. She heard her heart pounding in her chest at having spoken so freely and admitted so much.

"You're one of the few," she said, feeling her face flush, "to treat me as something more than just a silly woman with a sword. You've treated me with respect and honor. I'm grateful."

They stared at one another from across the room, the air around them charged with emotion and much more than words could communicate. Brienne knew she was in love with him; she had been for a long time. It made her feel foolish, not because she wasn't worthy of him – she knew her self-worth and she knew they were well matched – but because it meant little in the broad scheme of things. He had loved his sister the way Brienne loved him and she wasn't in a place to judge their love, not when she was witnessing it happen between another set of siblings she respected and served. Still, she wasn't so naïve as to think the love they shared had automatically dissipated when Jamie left King's Landing.

"Rest well, Ser Jamie," Brienne said finally, marching past him to the door. He caught her wrist just as she reached it and spun her around so she was pressed against him. He stared at her for a moment and then released her wrist, placing his hand on her waist. Brienne couldn't feel his touch because of her armor, but the knowledge that his hand rested there sent her nerves into a frenzy.

"Do you ever take your armor off? It's not exactly conducive to a passionate embrace, is it?"

Brienne flushed instantly and rolled her eyes at him. She tried to pull from his arms, yet he held her closer.

"I don't deserve your admiration," Jamie said in a serious, yet strangled voice. "But I'll take your friendship."

Brienne nodded once and removed Jamie's hand from her waist, lingering for just a moment before releasing his hand. She offered him a weak smile and then left him, knowing she'd return many more times.

She found herself in the courtyard outside the castle and glanced up, looking for Jamie's window. When she didn't see him, she sighed and allowed her body to relax some. It was then she heard the unmistakable sound of two blades colliding. She ran, pulling Oathbreaker from its sheath as she did. She broke through, finally, into a clearing previously hidden by trees and found Arya and Tormund.

She watched them duel, eyes wide and disbelieving. She noticed Needle hung at Arya's side and she was using a full size blade against Tormund. _Wise,_ she thought. _Her sword couldn't hold up in a proper battle with a full sword._ She hung back at the edge of the trees, re-sheathing her sword while she watched.

Arya had quick feet, she noticed, and her size made it harder for Tormund to anticipate her movements. Brienne felt herself relax, the rhythm of their dancing and the sound of their blades lulling any remaining anxiety she held. Every now and then Tormund would tap Arya with the side of his blade, reminding her to keep her arms up.

"It's heavier than I'm used to," she'd say in response, taking another swing at him.

"Aye, it's heavier than your little Needle and deadlier too. You want to be able to defend yourself, little Stark, and this is the only way. Let them underestimate you. They'll see a weak woman, a target and a victim. Use that and then make them pay for their idiocy when you cut their guts from their stomach."

Arya stepped forward into a spin while Tormund spoke, taking aim at his chest. Tormund deflected and pushed her back with his free arm. She rushed forward again, swinging her sword over her head and Tormund deflected once more. Back and forth they went, blades slicing through the air. Tormund stepped back and spun out to his right, swinging his sword in a perfect forward motion. As he did, he caught sight of Brienne and the brief distraction gave Arya an opening. She brought her sword over her head, catching his forearm with the tip, slicing it open. Even from the distance, Brienne saw the blood spurt forth.

"Fucking hell!" Tormund hissed and covered the wound with his hand. Arya rushed forward, pulling a piece of cloth from her pants. She wrapped it around his arm quickly and tied it off.

"It'll need stitches," Brienne heard Arya say. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't ever apologize for a fair strike, little Stark. If a man is stupid enough to be distracted even for a moment, you take your aim."

Tormund reached out, ruffling Arya's hair and his eyes floated back to Brienne. She was used to it now, the way his eyes always found hers, even when she tried not to acknowledge him. She held his gaze and realized she felt a certain amount of appreciation for him. It seemed he was there for nearly everything she was charged with that required a second person, and sometimes event when it didn't. They said little to one another, though he stared at her a lot. Now, to see him treating Arya as a suitable dueling partner, despite her sex and the significant age gap… Brienne realized there was more to him than the crass and obnoxious man she'd originally deemed him as.

##### XXXX

Sansa stared at Jon. He held her eyes, determination drawn across his features. Anger, disbelief, and desperation swelled within her as she replayed his words in her head.

"I'm going to Castle Black."

The trip would take at least two months. Two months she'd be without him. Two months for the distance between them to grow and wedge itself as a wall within their hearts. The thought of walking the castle without him, attending meetings and not hearing his voice, falling asleep without feeling his presence… She couldn't let him go.

"No, I'll send Brienne and Tormund. Tormund knows the wall and he's strong. He can manage a long journey and help Brienne keep Bran safe. No one would even know they're on the road; they'd be safe. If you go, everyone will know you've left Winterfell. You'll be in danger and so will we."

"I rode to the Eyrie and was gone for nearly six weeks. I was fine and so were you. This is Bran, Sansa. I have to go get him."

"No!" she exclaimed, turning away from him. "We have plenty of people. Why do you have to go?"

"He's our brother, Sansa. You know why I have to be the one."

Within her rational mind, Sansa knew it was for the best. No one knew the way to Castle Black like Jon. There was no one, not even Brienne or Tormund, whom she trusted to keep Bran safe the way she trusted Jon. They would be fine in Winterfell and she knew it, but still she didn't want him to go. She needed him.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't go. Don't leave me here."

She went to him, putting her hand on the side of his face. He leaned into her even though she could see he was conflicted. He had been distant from her ever since he got back from his ride with Arya. It had taken her hours to track him down even though Arya had returned rather quickly.

"It's for the best, Sansa. We can't… This can't happen between us. Two months apart will do us good. It'll remind us that we live in a world much larger than us. We can't keep a secret like this in such a large world."

A sob caught in Sansa's throat and she felt the weight of his words settle on her chest. He meant to leave as her lover and come back as merely her brother once more. The thought horrified her and yet she was still aware of how outrageous her desire for him truly was.

"What am I supposed to do, Jon? I can't just change the way I see you now. It won't work that way. How am I to see you and not touch you? How am I to sleep knowing you're so near yet out of my reach? You changed me. You died, Jon, but I woke up each morning wishing I were dead, contemplating what it would take to make it so. I don't want to die anymore. Don't you understand that? I want to live, but not if it means playing this stupid game again! I don't want to bind myself to some other man who just seeks to claim my body and power for himself. I want to be strong and I'm strongest when I'm with you."

Jon's expression softened. Sansa saw sadness and regret in his eyes. She knew it pained him, separating from her, but he was letting his fears become more important than his love for her. Jon reached out, drawing her into his arms. He held her so tightly, yet still Sansa felt she wasn't close enough.

"I'll always be yours, Sansa, whether together or not. I'll never love another."

Sansa sobbed against his chest, gripping his leathers until it felt her nails might break under the pressure. It wasn't good enough. Knowing she held his heart and he held hers, while important in a way Sansa had never felt before, wouldn't be enough to keep her sane. She'd never be able to take marriage vows that bound her to someone else. She would die if she had to see Jon marry a Lady from some random Northern house. She wanted things to be as they were now: the two of them ruling together, living together, and loving together.

"I love you, Jon. Please… Please don't do this."

Sansa felt Jon pull back to look at her. He stared down at her and moved his hand to the side of her neck. When his eyes darkened and his gaze darted to her lips and back again, Sansa felt hope begin to spread through her veins. He lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her and loving her in a way only he ever had. Her tears covered his cheeks as he lifted her into his arms.

Inside, Sansa soared. Her heart raced and blood pumped wildly in her ears. A fire burned deep inside her, stroked further by every touch of his lips, every press of his hard body against hers, every impassioned breath exchanged. Jon lowered her to his bed, following her down until his full weight rested upon her. When his lips left hers, Sansa heard herself whimper, seeking him out once more.

His head dipped, moving down her neck as his hands found the buttons of her dress. With deft but impatient hands, he pulled at the buttons until she was bared to him. Sansa moved her hands over his body, pulling at the straps of his leathers and clothing beneath, desperate to touch his bare skin.

They writhed against one another, clothes finally discarded so no barriers kept them apart. Sansa's fingers traced the scars on his chest and stomach, evidence of his murder at the hands of his brothers. Seeing the wounds made her shudder, reminding her all the more that she couldn't stand to lose him again.

Jon watched her as she traced his scars, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths. Slowly and carefully, he allowed his hands to explore her delicate body. Sansa felt her nerves knot and tumble in her stomach as he began to discover her scars. Tears of shame fell from her eyes as Jon discovered each one. She was covered in the evidence of Ramsay's games; her torso, back, and legs raised with the scars of cuts and burns that would never heal. Sansa was only thankful he couldn't see the damage to the inside of her body.

After what felt an eternity, Jon found Sansa's lips once more. His kisses were gentle and reassuring and Sansa clutched him to her. He kissed her until her gasps changed from panic to pleasure and then he kissed her again.

Sansa moaned when she felt him pressed against her center. She had expected it, wanted it, yet somehow she had not been properly prepared to feel him spreading her open. Jon stilled, watching her, waiting for her approval. When she nodded, moving her hand to the back of his neck, he pressed forward, filling her entirely. Sansa gasped, the air leaving her lungs in an instant. The fullness of him was both overwhelming and satisfying. She dug her nails into his lower back, urging him on for fear she would combust if he didn't move within her.

Sansa nearly cried out when Jon pulled back, only to thrust back into her once more. She had never felt pleasure like this before. Ramsay had only been after his own pleasure and actually sought out ways to make her suffer for it. Overcome with love and pleasure, Sansa felt herself come apart beneath Jon, her face buried in his shoulder to silence her moans. He continued moving within her, whispering her name as he drove forward.

Lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, Sansa pulled back enough to watch him. His eyes were dark and hooded, his lips parted. The muscles in his shoulders rippled with each forward motion and sweat beaded on his chest. Sansa felt him speed up and she reached up, tangling her hands in his hair. She committed every movement, every moan, every breath to her memory. When he pressed forward deeper, filling her to completion, Sansa allowed herself to follow him over the edge.

When he finally pulled himself from her, the absence of him made Sansa feel emptier than she ever had. She sighed, burrowing herself into him as Jon pulled one of the furs over their bodies. Laying on their sides facing one another, Jon and Sansa fell asleep gripping each other's hands.

It was mid-morning when Sansa finally awoke, her body feeling wonderfully sore and her mind well rested. She nestled into the heavy blanket covering her and it was only then she realized Jon did not lie beside her. She sat up suddenly, eyes surveying the room. Her clothes still lay discarded on the floor, but his leathers and cloak were gone. Beside her, a single piece of parchment was left on the bed.

Sansa felt her world spin, bile rising in her throat as she stared at it, not daring to read it. She knew he was gone. He'd gone to Castle Black and taken her heart with him. When her trembling hands finally did reach out for the parchment, Sansa's eyes moved across the small script slowly.

_"The last time I left Winterfell bound for the Wall, I did so as a child who felt wronged by the world; lost and seeking honor. Today, I leave once more, more lost than ever having forsaken my honor. My soul stays here with you, in that bed, in your arms. I will love you from this day until my last day, Sansa. And when I return, you'll find yourself once more with two brothers. Jon."_


	4. Part IV

# Part IV

Sansa ran from Jon's room, barely taking the time to pull her dress haphazardly over her body. Her feet took her first to the Great Hall, but she found it empty and cold. She ran to Ser Davos' room, but still nothing. It was when she stepped out into the courtyard that she finally set eyes on someone. Brienne stood by the gate talking with Podrick, who appeared to have just gotten back from his scouting trip. Brienne nodded once and left him, striding over to Sansa.

"My Lady, your dress –"

"Never mind my stupid dress! Where is he?"

Brienne's eyes faltered and Sansa knew she was too late even before she heard the words fall from Brienne's lips.

"They left at daybreak, My Lady. He and Ser Davos. They ride for Castle Black."

Sansa felt her knees weaken, felt herself want to collapse right there and not move again until he returned. She wanted to beat her fists against the wet ground and curse Jon for leaving her like that. Instead, she took a deep breath, lifting her face toward the sky. _You're not a child anymore,_ she thought. _You can't throw a fit and think that will bring him home any faster. You're a Queen now, Sansa. Act like it._

"You will act as my military advisor in their absence, Brienne. I know little about battles or defending a castle. I believe you know more. Work with Tormund and Podrick to come up with a defense plan, should we be attacked by Cersei or anyone else. You may request the assistance of Jamie Lannister in developing this plan if you feel it necessary. I also want to see the schedule of who will stand guard outside his chambers. There should be 3 people guarding his and Bronn's rooms at all times. Also find out how many horses we have and take an inventory of the weapons."

Brienne bowed and Sansa turned to go back into the castle. She froze when she saw Arya and Ghost at the entrance watching. Arya's arms were crossed over her chest and her sword hung at her side. Sansa nearly laughed remembering how she'd done the exact same thing as a child after Jon had left for the Wall. She would have laughed if Jon hadn't taken what was left of her happiness with him.

Arya stepped out of the doorway and came to stand in front of her sister. Her eyes were hard, yet somehow her features seemed steeped in empathy.

"I looked for you after he left, but you weren't in your chambers."

Sansa could tell by the sound of Arya's voice that she'd known exactly where she had been since she hadn't been in her quarters. It made Sansa want to deny it and come up with some story, but she was tired of lying and part of her hoped her sister might understand how much pain she was in at that moment.

"I was in Jon's room."

Arya nodded and, after a moment, dropped her arms, sighing loudly.

"Couldn't you have fallen in love with Tormund or Davos or even Pod? Did it have to be Jon?"

Sansa laughed out loud, holding a hand to her mouth. Her laughter faded into choked sobs as her mind imagined the sight of him leaving her in bed and sneaking out of the room. She was so angry with him for making her love him, giving her such joy and claiming her the way he had, and then running away before she could stop him. She could still feel his hands on her body and taste that which was intrinsically Jon. She was sore in all the best ways and every movement reminded her of their union.

Arya swept forward at the sound of her sister's sobs and put her arms around her waist, holding her. They stood together in the courtyard for the longest time, Arya shushing her sister while she stroked her hair. Those who stepped out into the courtyard while moving about the castle quickly scurried away at the sight of them.

When they pulled apart, Sansa dried her tears with the back of her hand and promised herself it would be the last time she would cry in public and it would be the last time she would cry for Jon. He'd left her and there were no guarantees he'd make it back home. The only thing she could guarantee was she'd never let another man touch her as long as she lived.

Sansa took a deep breath and offered her sister a sad, but thankful smile. Arya returned it with a nod and took Sansa's hand, guiding her back into the castle. On their way in, Sansa glanced up. Jamie Lannister stood at his window, leaning on the windowsill with his head stuck out the window. He met Sansa's gaze and Sansa was stilled when she saw understanding in his eyes.

Pulling her eyes from his, Sansa followed her sister into the castle. From that moment on, Arya never left her sister's side except for her lessons with Tormund and Sansa's visits to the godswood. It was comforting, Sansa thought, to have her sister's support even though she disapproved. It was love, she realized. Real love.

##### XXXX

Jon hated himself. He had never felt more ashamed or dishonorable than he did on the journey to Castle Black. It had taken Davos days to finally pull any words from Jon and even then, he had offered no real conversation. Only during the final week of their journey had Jon opened up to Davos one night while sitting in front of their camp fire.

_"You made a mistake, lad, there's no denying that. Bedding the girl and then sneaking out in the dead of night; you let your fear drive you and undoubtedly left her in more pain than you found her. Still, you were right to take this journey yourself. Sending another man in your stead isn't the type of King you want to be, even if you don't particularly want to be a King."_

_Jon stared into the flames as he did every night. They reminded him of the way Sansa's hair had fanned out on the bed as she writhed under him. It was maddening. Nothing to do on the King's Road other than think and all he did was think and imagine what she was doing at any given moment._

_"There's no setting this right, Davos. I put her in danger with each stolen glance and night in each other's arms. I couldn't let it go on any longer and become something neither of us could stop. A clean break was the only way. But… I shouldn't have done it that way."_

_"Aye," Davos said, stirring the embers. "All you can do now is focus on winter. Bring your brother home, deal with the mess in King's Landing, and prepare yourself to face the Night's King. Those are the things that matter now."_

Jon sighed, pulling Davos' attention to him. Misery had sunk deep into his bones. He hadn't been warm since leaving Sansa's arms and he wouldn't be warm again even after returning to Winterfell. His body ached from the month-long journey and he knew he still had another month ahead with the return trip. The only thing he had to look forward to was reuniting with his little brother.

A horn sounded, raising the alarm along the wall. Jon looked up as they approached, making eye contact with the Brothers on guard duty. He heard his name shouted and a frenzy of movement pulled his attention to the side where several more heads appeared along the wall. They shouted down to him and he cast his hand into the air in greeting.

Jon felt himself relax a bit as he and Davos were granted entry and they rode forward through the gates of Castle Black. They were surrounded almost immediately by Jon's former Brothers in Black. He shook countless hands, hugging a few souls who rushed forward.

Lingering near the back, Jon found Edd. The Brothers parted as Jon stepped forward, finding his way to him. Edd stared at him, looking him over from head to toe.

"Your Grace," Edd smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't call me that, you bloody bastard."

"Pretty sure that's still you," Edd replied before pulling Jon forward into a strong embrace. Jon hugged him back, laughing for the first time in weeks.

"It's good to see you, Edd."

"Aye, but I imagine it's not me you're here to see, despite my dashing good looks."

Jon pulled back and nodded, his eyes glancing around the open courtyard. When he didn't spot Bran, he turned back to Edd questioningly.

"Come on, I'll take you to him."

Jon followed Edd, Davos at his side while their horses were taken to the stables. They walked through the castle until they came to the small room Jon had first stayed in when he'd arrived at Castle Black. Just as they made to knock on the door, it swung open and Jon stood face to face with a very surprised girl.

"Oh!" she said and stepped back again.

"What is it, Meera?"

Jon stepped forward when he heard his brother's voice, pushing the girl back into the room. Bran was seated in an oversized lounge chair, which was frayed and torn in several spots. He had a roll of parchment spread across his lap and a quill in his hands. His face lit up when he spotted Jon and Jon rushed forward, kneeling as he pulled his brother into his arms.

Jon felt the same tight pressure he'd felt in his chest when he'd seen Sansa and Arya again for the first time. It was as though the joy in his heart made it swell and beat so quickly it might stop working altogether. Bran clung to him and Jon could feel his brother wanting so badly to move freely, though his legs would not allow him to.

When he pulled away, Bran grinned at him. He was a young man now, no longer a boy.

"You look like father," Bran said, looking him over. "When you walked in, I almost thought it was him for a moment."

Jon laughed and shook his head.

"And you look a grown man, little brother."

Bran's eyes glanced over Jon's shoulder and he nodded once, reaching out his hand. The girl stepped forward from the doorway and took Bran's hand. She steadied him with her other hand under his arm while he sat up, edging forward in the seat.

"Jon, this is Meera Reed, Howland Reed's daughter."

Jon nodded at the girl and she returned the gesture before lowering herself to the floor beside the chair, sitting at Bran's side.

"Are you well? Your letter didn't say much. Sansa and Arya are at Winterfell. They're eager to see you."

Bran's eyes danced with excitement and he glanced at Meera before turning to Jon again.

"So they're both there? I knew about Sansa, but didn't know Arya had arrived as well."

Jon knelt in front of his brother for what could have been hours. He listened to Bran talk of his travels, what he'd done and seen, the wights they'd faced and the encounter with the Night's King. Bran told him of the Three-Eyed Raven and what it all meant. He told him of his abilities and responsibilities. Jon was saddened to learn of Hodor's death and felt especially bad for Meera whose eyes filled with tears as she helped tell the story. Internally, he gave silent thanks to Summer, Bran's wolf, for giving her life to help protect him.

It was the story about his Uncle Benjen that pained Jon the most. He felt as though a dagger had pierced his heart. He was alive, sort of, but Jon wondered if he would ever see him again. He had no plans to go beyond the wall once more, but perhaps one day he would.

"I saw you," Bran said suddenly. "At Craster's Keep. We were being held prisoner there. You came with the Night's Watch. If you hadn't shown up when you had, I don't think we would have gotten away."

"You were there? Why didn't you—"

"We were heading north of the Wall. I knew you wouldn't have let me. You'd have wanted to keep me safe, but I had to go. I had to find the Three-Eyed Raven. I watched you though, fighting them. It made me proud to call you brother."

They sat in silence, Jon allowing himself to simply enjoy being in the same space as Bran. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back over his shoulder at Davos. Davos nodded and Jon rose to his feet, looking down at his little brother.

"I need to meet with Edd. We'll stay the night so Davos and I can get a decent night's sleep and then we'll set out for home tomorrow. Sound good, little brother?"

Bran nodded but grabbed Jon's arm as he turned to walk away, pulling him back.

"Is it true you're Warden of the North?"

Jon smiled sadly, his thoughts turning to Sansa. His heart clenched automatically as her face filled his mind, shame following. He shook his head and stepped back.

"Sansa's Warden of the North. I'm merely her sword. When we return, though, you'll be the real Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. You're a trueborn Stark and father's heir. Together with Sansa, you'll be every bit as decent a Warden as he was."

Bran shook his head and looked away, staring into the fire.

"Fire and ice shall rule. Fire to melt the snow and drive away the winds of winter; ice to extinguish the flames and purify the air."

Jon raised an eyebrow, looking at Bran as he stared away. He glanced back at Davos who shrugged and shook his head. When Bran finally met Jon's eyes again he smiled.

"Did you bring Ghost?"

"Uh, no," Jon said. "I left him behind with the girls."

Bran nodded contentedly and sat back in his chair as Jon turned, pulling Davos with him to find Edd.

"That was bloody strange," Davos said to Jon as they walked.

"Aye," Jon replied and glanced over his shoulder at Bran. There was something he was missing, he felt. Something Bran had held back on, perhaps for fear of drowning him in information. He shook the notion from his head and thought on it no more.

##### XXXX

Brienne stood behind Sansa in the council room. Tormund sat across from Brienne with Podrick on one side and Arya on the other. Jon's chair remained vacant as it had since he'd left nearly two months ago. Under the table, Ghost's head lay in Arya's lap. Brienne's eyes were on Jamie, as they had been since he'd entered the room. This was the second time Sansa had called upon Jamie for advice on how to handle Cersei Lannister.

Jamie was clean and well fed. He'd gained back some of the muscle he'd lost during journey to Winterfell. Now that he had little to do but sit around wait, he'd had the opportunity to rebuild his body. Brienne hated that she was so aware of it, but he never wore his armor during her visits in the evenings. Jamie had caught her staring on more than one occasion and he was always quick to point it out.

"We have reason to believe your sister has sent spies north to gather information on our numbers," Sansa said. Brienne had noticed her tone toward Jamie had gotten less harsh. She now used the same tone for everyone, whether Lord, Lady, peasant or friend. She held herself as a Queen, giving everyone she encountered the same respect, no matter their station. In truth, Brienne sometimes missed the informal way Sansa would talk and the way her eyes would light up in amusement. Still, she was proud to serve her. Sansa's mind was quick and her wits sharp. She had spent the past two months learning about war strategy and politics, meeting with anyone and everyone who could teach her something. Often, Brienne found her asleep in front of the fire with her father's journals spread across her lap.

Jamie's voice brought Brienne out of her thoughts and back to the conversation at hand.

"She's trying to figure out if she can destroy you with one army or if she needs to call upon the other Houses allied to her."

Sansa nodded at Jamie and glanced down, her nails picking at a stray piece of thread on her cloak.

"What would you have me do, Ser Jamie?"

Jamie's eyes narrowed in confusion and he glanced at Brienne. Sansa had never called him "Ser" before and the title implied a certain level of respect Brienne had not known was there. She shook her head slightly and Jamie glanced away again, returning Sansa's gaze.

"Hunt down the spies and send their heads back to her. At least, that's what I'd do, Your Grace."

"Mm," Sansa said and her attention returned to the thread once more. She stared at it for a long time, wrapping it around her finger over and over until the tip turned red.

"Take Tormund and Podrick, plus a dozen men. Find the spies and bring them to me. Blind them if you have to, but ensure they see nothing. I don't want them getting any information I don't want them to have."

Jamie stared at Sansa slack jawed and confused. He looked at Brienne and then the others, seeking an answer to the most obvious question.

"You're letting him leave the castle? Giving him a sword and a horse?"

Arya stared at her sister incredulously and Sansa turned to face her, nodding only once.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because he's a better swordsman than you, little sister, and he knows the area better than Tormund. He's a better dancer than Pod, and he's a knight. Besides, we'll keep his sell sword here as further incentive for Ser Jamie to act with honor."

"Jon wouldn't want –"

"Jon's not here is he?"

Arya shook her head, her eyes darting to Brienne for a moment before refocusing on her sister. Sansa turned her attention back to Jamie, her fingers still moving idly over the piece of thread.

"Can you set out immediately? It's early enough so you might have a full day of light if you hurry."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Sansa nodded and glanced over her shoulder at Brienne.

"You're too valuable to me, Brienne. I already know what you're thinking. That's why I'm not sending you. I need you here."

Brienne nodded, her attention quickly stolen by Tormund who rose to his feet, pulling Podrick up with him.

"Well, the slightly less important members of this group have a trip to prepare for."

Brienne bit back the smirk she felt on her lips, but couldn't resist rolling her eyes at him. He grinned at her, winking before turning away. As the others left the room, save Arya, Brienne glanced down at Sansa. She nodded instinctively and Brienne was thankful she didn't have to ask permission to follow Jamie to his room. She caught up with him in the corridor, falling into step beside him. He glanced at her but said nothing until they reached his room.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked, watching him put his armor on.

"Few days, maybe less."

Brienne nodded and Jamie looked up at her. He paused, letting his fingers hover over the leather straps.

"Take off your armor," he said and then continued securing his own. She raised an eyebrow at him and opened her mouth to question him but he shook his head. "Just take the damn armor off."

Brienne considered her options. She knew he'd had her armor made specifically for her. It wasn't as though he was going to trade her and take it with him. Maybe he meant to give it to Tormund? They were almost the same size and his armor was significant lacking. That would be a worthy use of it. She removed her belt, laying Oathkeeper on the desk by the door. Jamie finished securing his armor and then stood waiting for her. She took off the last piece and set it aside, a pile leaning against the legs of the desk. She looked up at Jamie curiously.

He strode forward and Brienne felt him draw her to his chest. She held her arms out, unsure of where to put her hands. She stared at him as his arms wrapped around her body, his hands moving up her back and down again, tracing her sides. She felt her face flush with heat and her body trembled in response to his touch. She quickly found she couldn't look at him.

"Breathe," he said softly and Brienne released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

A smirk crossed Jamie's lips and Brienne felt the overwhelming impulse to shove him. She would have if he hadn't been holding her so tightly.

"Didn't I tell you armor on armor doesn't really allow for a passionate embrace?"

"You did," she said.

"And yet every time you've come to my room at night, you've shown up wearing it."

"Yes," she said, unblinking.

"When I come back, and I will come back, if you come to me without your armor, I'll know what you want. If you walk in wearing it, I'll keep my distance and let you keep yours."

Brienne stared at him, speechless and defeated in his arms. She wanted to embrace him yet she couldn't bring her arms to move. She wanted to press herself into him, but she feared acknowledging her want. Instead, she let him lean forward, enveloping her in a hug that filled her senses. When he pulled away, he looked at her one last time and then left her standing there, arms still out held and heart in her throat.

##### XXXX

Sansa lay awake in the early hours of the morning. She'd awoken hours earlier, as she did most days, and her mind had turned to Jon. She thought of the pieces of parchment that lay under her head: the one he'd left when he'd stolen away in the middle of the night and the other brought by raven nearly a month ago.

She hadn't wanted to break the seal at first. She didn't want to see his small script or read his words. She didn't want to admit she'd been waiting each day to see if a raven brought word from Castle Black. She wanted to act as though it was unimportant and her daily tasks came first. In the end, she had only made it halfway down the corridor before she'd turned and ran back, retrieving the letter.

_"Sansa,_

_We arrived this day to find Bran unharmed and well. Meera Reed is with him, though her brother Jojen was killed by wights many moons ago. If it pleases you, Meera would like you to send a raven to her parents and supplies to see them through the long winter. I leave this in your care._

_Bran has grown into a man. He has many stories to tell you and I will not put to parchment the things he's told me already. He was excited to hear Arya had joined us in Winterfell and asks you tell her so._

_My heart aches as I imagine you reading this. I was a coward, Sansa. Of the many mistakes I've made, not saying a proper goodbye to you shames me most. I will not ask you to forgive me, but I will promise not to do that to you again._

_Smile, beauty. Your brothers return in a moon's time._

_All my love, Jon"_

His words had eased her heart, for at least she knew he was safe. Yet she also knew him well. His words were chosen carefully and their meaning was not lost on her. He started by reminding her she was the Queen in the North and he was trusting her wisdom while away. Then he let her know that he felt badly for having left her as he did, but that his decision to be siblings only had not changed. Somehow, he had managed to soothe her and enrage her all at once.

Each day she had laid in bed, as she did now, trying to decide how she would handle herself when he returned. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to beat her hands against him until all the hurt within her had become his pain. She wanted to ignore him as though it mattered not that he had returned. She wanted to jump into his arms and feel his lips against hers. She wanted to fall to her knees before him and beg him to love her the way she needed once more.

The only thing she didn't want was to feel him refuse her.

With an exasperated sigh, Sansa rose from her bed and dressed in the warmest dress she had. She stole from her room and exited the castle, making her way to the godswood.

She let herself slide down the base of the tree until her bottom hit the cold, wet ground. Drawing her legs to her chest, she wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head to her knees, allowing the cold to revive her wounded spirit.

"Winter is here, father," she whispered. "You spoke of it so often it became an abstract concept to me. Almost as though it were just something you said because all fathers needed something to say. But now I understand. I'm sorry I didn't before."

As she sat in the snow, her mind turned to Bran. She was anxious to see him. In her distant mind, she knew his return would signal a new Warden of the North. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. Part of her wanted to be Queen in the North. She was good at it, she thought. The other part of her was happy to turn it all over to Bran and go back to simply being a Lady of House Stark.

It wasn't until her body shook from the cold ground and the icy air around her that she finally looked up, preparing to stand.

Jon stood before her, clad in the cloak she'd made for him, wearing the leathers that made him look so much like their father. His hair was loose around his face, the dark curls clinging to his beard. His gloved hand rested on his belt, the other on the pommel of his sword. He was commanding. His mere presence demanded admiration.

And it pissed Sansa off.

She stood, brushing the snow off her cloak, though she could feel the melted ice dripping down her legs. She cast him one more glance before passing him, on her way to find Bran.

Jon's arm stretched out and he grabbed Sansa's wrist stopping her in her tracks. She spun on him, anger, sadness, and longing swelling inside her chest. She set her eyes on him and he dropped his arm immediately, taking a step back.

"Sansa," he said.

"What?"

"I just… I don't know."

"You don't know?" Sansa laughed, the sound violent even to her own ears. "Well, I leave you to figure it out, Jon."

She passed him again, but this time spun around of her own accord, words flying from her mouth before she could stop them.

"Do you have a clue what you've done? You took me into your bed and climbed inside me. You made me feel, Jon, and for once it wasn't pain. And then you left. You ran away like a coward, leaving me sleeping in your bed. Do you know what it was like to wake up happy and feel my world crumble around me? You breathed life into me and then you left me. You took your love; you took your strength, your humor, your peace… You took everything from me."

Jon stared at her; guilt, shame, and horror written across his face. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want him to feel the misery she felt. He was the one who had brought them to this point, after all.

She swept forward and her hand met his face, the sound of it echoing in her ears. She gasped and drew back, covering her mouth with her hand.

"I… I didn't mean to…"

Jon stared at the ground in front of her, completely void of expression. She wanted to go to him, caress his face and embrace him. She wanted to forgive him and love him once more, but his words floated through her head as though she were reading his letter again: _"Your brothers return in a moon's time."_

"I'm glad you're safe," she said finally, leaving him standing in the godswood as she ran to find Bran.

She found him in Arya's room. The two of them were seated on the floor whispering together when she walked in. The sound of her steps drew Bran's attention and he turned to look at her, his face alive with laughter. Sansa drew in a sharp breath and took a step back. She felt the tears flowing down her cheeks.

She threw herself at him, collapsing in front of him as she pulled him into her arms. He gripped her tightly and she felt his smile against the crook of her neck.

"Is that you, Sansa, or is that our mother?"

Sansa laughed into his shoulder and shook her head, choking back her sobs.

"You look beautiful, Sansa. You truly do look just like her."

Sansa pulled back, taking his face between her hands. She studied him, seeing the boy she'd once known hidden behind the features of the man before her. His laugh was light and sincere and his smile made her feel at home once more.

"I'm glad to be home," Bran said, laying his hands over hers.

##### XXXX

Jon sat in a chair in front of the fireplace in Bran's room. Sansa sat beside him in her chair and Bran sat in front of her with his back to her as she clipped his hair. They had already been sitting in front of the fire for hours. Arya was asleep in Bran's bed where Jon had laid her some time earlier. Jon and Sansa hadn't spoken to one another since she'd left him at the godswood. They'd let Bran do most of the talking and he told Sansa stories, many Jon had already heard and some he hadn't.

Sansa told him about her time in King's Landing and her marriage to Ramsay Bolton, glossing over some of the more devastating details. They reminisced about Rickon the most. Bran had taken that news hard when Jon had told him at Castle Black. He blamed himself for sending Rickon away, but the reality was, he wouldn't have survived anyway. Meera and Bran were lucky to be breathing as it were.

Sansa finished clipping Bran's hair and squeezed his shoulders, kissing the back of his head.

"Done," she said and Bran ran a hand through his hair. He glanced over his shoulder, casting a smile at his sister. Jon rose from his seat and turned Bran's chair so he was facing the fire with them. A few moments passed before Bran glanced at Jon.

"There's a story I haven't told you yet. About one of the things I saw after the Three-Eyed Raven was killed and Uncle Benjen saved us."

Sansa snuggled into her chair, bringing her blanket up under her chin. Jon watched from the corner of his eye, making sure he was as inconspicuous as possible.

"I saw father when he was young," Bran said, gaining Jon's full attention. "He was at a tower looking for Aunt Lyanna."

"Lyanna?" Jon said, leaning forward.

"I thought she was stolen by Rhaegar Targaryen?" Sansa said, stifling a yawn.

Bran glanced at her and then returned his focus to Jon. Something inside him stirred in response to the look in Bran's eyes. This was the something, Jon realized, that he'd known Bran was keeping from him.

"I don't think she was stolen," Bran said. "I think she loved him and left King Robert to be with him. When father found her she was covered in blood. She lay in bed, pale and barely conscious. She loved father, Jon. The look on her face when he knelt at her side… I've never seen that look before, but it reminded me of the way Arya looked at you when we were children."

Jon smiled sadly and glanced at Sansa despite the stormy air between them. She was staring at Bran and didn't meet his gaze.

"She had given birth, Jon." Bran's words forced Jon's eyes back to his little brother. "It was the labor that killed her. But her son was healthy."

"Aunt Lyanna had a son? Why didn't we—"

Sansa stopped speaking suddenly and Jon looked at her. When her eyes met his, Jon saw shock and understanding there. He frowned and turned back to Bran.

"What?"

"She made father promise to keep the child safe from Robert. She knew Robert would kill him because Rhaegar's blood flowed in his veins. Her last words were a plea to father to protect her son."

Bran paused and Jon felt himself sit up straighter, willing himself to hear the rest.

"So father brought him home, disguised as his own bastard son, born to a Southern woman he wouldn't name."

"No," Jon said, rising from his chair. "I'm Ned Stark's son. It's his blood that flows in my veins."

"It is, Jon. It is his blood in your veins. You're a Stark, but born to his sister."

Bran looked apologetic and it made Jon's blood run cold. He felt Sansa rise from her chair and stand at his side, but he kept his eyes on Bran.

"You're wrong. Your visions aren't real, Bran."

"They are, Jon. You know father; you know the kind of man he was. He was too honorable to have betrayed my mother like that. He was too good to have forced her to see the product of his infidelity each day while he raised him. He only put her through that to honor his promise to Lyanna; to keep you safe from King Robert."

"I've spent my whole life," Jon said, his voice rising to a pitch that woke Arya from her sleep. "Labeled a bastard. But at least I was Ned Stark's bastard. I could take some pride in knowing where I came from and the kind of man my father was. I had a family; brothers and sisters even if only half blood. Now you're telling me I'm the bastard son of a Targaryen? Relations of the Mad King?"

Bran stared at Jon and Jon knew he spoke the truth. He could see the anguish in Bran's eyes as he told him, yet it did nothing to assuage the fire building in his own stomach. His whole life, his entire identity, was built on being Ned Stark's son. Now he had no idea who he was. The only thing that remained the same was he was still a bastard born in the South. He had even less claim to Winterfell than he'd thought. He had even less right to be there than he could have imagined.

He swept from the room, needing out of the confining walls of the castle. He heard Bran call after him and Sansa's footsteps trailing behind him.

It wasn't until he was in the courtyard that he stopped, stilled by Sansa's hand on his arm. She stared at him and he could see the worry in her eyes lit by the light of the moon.

"You do look like your mother," Jon said. "And I'm the reason she felt any sort of unhappiness with father – your father. She suffered every time she looked at me and it was only so I would be kept safe. Your mother suffered and mine died, both because of me."

Sansa stepped forward, her hand still on Jon's arm. She stared up at him, her expression soft and sincere.

"Father loved you, Jon. Maybe he kept you safe to fulfill his promise to Aunt Lyanna, but he treasured you too. I saw it in the way he talked to you when mother wasn't around. I saw it in the way he taught you how to hold your sword and fight. He trusted you and kept you close, even when he shouldn't have. His blood is your blood, Jon. You know how much he adored Lyanna. She meant more to him than anyone else and he devoted that love and care to you in her stead."

"I'm a Targaryen, Sansa. In this world, my father is the one who matters and that makes me a Targaryen. I don't even know what that means. I don't know what to do or where to go. I know nothing, Sansa."

Jon turned, hearing movement at the entrance of the castle. Arya appeared suddenly, pulling a cart behind her. Bran sat in it, his eyes frantic as he searched the night for Jon. When he saw him, he leaned forward.

"She's your cousin, Jon!" Bran called out as Arya pulled the cart closer. "You can't leave Winterfell."

"How did you-?"

Bran stared at him and Jon closed his mouth, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"I can't stay here, Bran! Winterfell is yours. Yours, Sansa's, and Arya's. I've no claim to it now and no business acting like the noble son of Ned Stark in front of the Northern Houses. I'll go back to Castle Black and prepare for the battle to come. It's the only place I can call home now."

Sansa released Jon's arm suddenly and stepped back, hurt and betrayal crossing her face once more.

"No," Bran said. "I'm not meant to stay here, Jon. I have to find your Aunt. She's the key to defeating the wights. Her dragons can change everything. Winterfell is yours, Jon. Yours and Sansa's."

Jon stared at him, confusion at the idea of him searching out Daenerys Targaryen melding with the confusion of Winterfell belonging to him and Sansa.

"She's not your sister, Jon. The thing that's been holding you back –"

"How do you know-?"

"I just do," Bran said. "The point is: she's not your sister."

Jon stared at him, letting his swords sink in. He understood his meaning, but somehow, it wasn't relief he felt. In some ways, it seemed even worse now. Sansa deserved better than a bastard Targaryen playing at being a Stark. _The white wolf,_ he thought. _What a joke._ Jon looked up at the castle behind them. Stark banners hung from all sides and the sight, which had once stroked the flames of pride within him, now made him burn with regret and embarrassment.

Ghost's nose nudged Jon's hand, flipping it onto his head. He looked down at his wolf and thought of the day they'd found the orphaned pack. Ghost had been the runt, outcast from the others. He stared up at Jon now, white as snow with eyes that burned like fire. Jon suddenly felt his attachment to the beast turn into a life line. He knelt, clutching Ghost to his chest.

When he rose to his feet, he grasped Ghost's fur, guiding him toward the gates. Ghost followed automatically, padding along beside him.

"Jon!" Sansa called after him, stopping him at the gates. He turned and looked at her. Arya stood beside her, tears in her eyes.

"I can't be here. I need some time to figure all this out." Jon hesitated before pushing through the gates. He took a deep breath and then offered the girls a smile. "I won't go far. I'll be back. I promise."

##### XXXX

Tormund crouched low to the earth, his sword in hand. To his immediate right, Podrick glanced at him, axe held in his grip. Tormund had to give it to the kid; he was fearless. He had proved he wasn't the kind to hang back and watch others do the dirty work. He had also been the first to spot the band of spies. There were more of them than they'd expected, but nothing they couldn't handle.

Just ahead of them, the Golden Cunt was laying on his stomach. He was hidden only by the slope of the hill in front of him, which he now peered over to get a better look at the spies. After a moment, he raised his golden hand and Tormund and the kid pressed forward. The soldiers behind them had been commanded to stay back for fear they'd make too much noise and give them away.

"Six men," Lannister said, nodding toward the camp below. Tormund pushed his head over the ridge of the hill and scanned the scene. He felt Podrick beside him and nudged the kid. He leaned forward, resting his axe on the hill.

"What do you see?" he whispered to the kid.

Podrick stared down for a moment and then turned to Tormund, his eyes narrowed.

"Seven horses."

"Seven horses," Tormund repeated.

"Only six places around the fire. Could have lost one or brought an extra horse. Maybe they plan to take a Stark back to King's Landing."

Tormund surveyed the scene again, considering the Lannister's words. His eyes moved over the tracks in the snow. It was hard to see from his angle and he was only able to count five pairs of tracks. Horse shit, he thought.

"We can bring the men," he said. "Close a circle around them. Even if there is one hidden somewhere, they'd be overwhelmed."

Tormund moved slowly, crawling backwards. When he was out of sight, he rose to his feet and looked to the sky above. The early morning sun hadn't cleared the horizon yet and the sky was dark with a burnt orange tint nearest the earth. There were no birds to be seen, which meant they were likely asleep in the surrounding trees. One false move and the birds would spook and take flight. There'd be no sneak attack then.

He reached up, pulling his dingy snow-colored hood over his head to camouflage his red hair. It was then he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed behind him. He turned just in time to see a man drive forward, sword poised to strike. He made to bring his sword up, but knew it was futile; he'd been the victim of his own plot.

Blood sprayed Tormund's face. When he blinked, the man standing in front of him fell forward, sputtering as he coughed up blood. Jamie Lannister pulled his sword from his chest and kicked him to the ground.

"Guess we found the seventh."

Tormund nodded his thanks and bent down, removing the sword from the dead man's hand. Together, the three of them met up with the dozen men awaiting orders not far away. By the time they burst out of the tree line, closing in on the group in a crescent formation, the sun had cleared the horizon and was pushing into the morning sky. They managed to take four of them alive, only having to kill two more in the process.

As they rode back to the castle, Tormund found himself beside Jamie Lannister.

"I owe you my thanks," Tormund said.

"You owe me nothing. We've been charged with bringing them back to the Starks. I needed you alive to do it."

Tormund grunted his response and pulled ahead.

"You're still a golden cunt," he called over his shoulder, earning a snicker from the kid.

When they made it back to the castle, it was well after sundown. The gates were opened for them and Tormund jumped down from his horse, going ahead to find Jon's sister while the others waited in the courtyard with their captives.

He was walking the corridor to her chambers when he saw Brienne exit Sansa's room. She froze when she saw him and excitement filled him. She was as stiff as a slab of marble half the time and he'd made it his mission to break her. He'd succeeded a few times already, earning a smirk or smile until she realized and corrected herself.

"You're back," she said and Tormund nodded.

"Aye," he said. "Been counting the days have you?"

Brienne ignored his comment and strode forward until she was standing in front of him.

"What happened?"

"Killed three, captured four."

"Very well. Lady Stark will be anxious to hear from you. I won't delay you longer."

Brienne stepped past him and Tormund watched her until she turned around. She stared at him for a second and then came back, standing in front of him.

"Things are happening here. I'm unclear what exactly, but Jon came back with his brother yesterday morning. Last night he left alone and has yet to return. Lady Stark has spent most of her time with the young Lord Stark. There's… Tension."

"He left? Left where?"

"I don't know. He only said he would remain nearby and would return. He took his wolf with him."

Tormund nodded and turned, meaning to set out to find Jon. There were few people left in Tormund's world that he trusted and even fewer he would give his own life for. Jon was one of them and wherever he was, Tormund should be too.

"Tormund!" Brienne called after him. He turned and she nodded toward Sansa's room. Tormund groaned and walked back, marching past her. He stopped when he reached the door and was just about to knock when it swung open. Sansa took one look at Tormund and stepped past him into the hallway, falling into step with Brienne.

"How many?" Sansa asked over her shoulder as Tormund caught up to her.

"We've brought four, m'lady. Killed three others out of necessity."

Sansa nodded as she led them down the corridor. Tormund put his hand out, stilling her just before they reached the courtyard.

"The Lannister… He saved my life. I'm not saying that makes him trustworthy, but I thought you should know."

From the corner of his eye, Tormund saw Brienne's eyes widen. She looked from him to the courtyard and then back again. He glanced at her and for a moment he thought he saw relief or even happiness. Whether it was because the prick had done a good deed, or because Tormund was alive, he couldn't be sure.

"Thank you, Tormund. I'm glad to hear it. I'd like a report on the rest of the journey after we've dealt with our guests."

"Actually, m'lady, I'll leave the reporting to the Golden Cunt." Tormund paused when he heard Brienne's exasperated sigh. He'd never admit it to anyone else, but he'd said it just to get a rise out of her. "I mean to set out to find your brother."

Sansa stared at him for several seconds and then nodded before walking into the courtyard.

"Bring him home when he's ready, Tormund, not before."

Tormund frowned, but nodded once and set out.

##### XXXX

Sansa sat by the fire, her eyes set upon the dancing flames. Her hand moved idly, stroking Arya's hair as she lay sleeping with her head in Sansa's lap. It had become her new normal: sitting by the fire drinking ale with her sister until one of them fell asleep. Tonight, her mind had turned to Jon, as it did every night. She imagined him out in the wilderness somewhere sitting in front of a camp fire. She thought of him staring into the flames just as she was and wondered if he was thinking of her. Her heart ached for him. She yearned to touch him, hold him, reassure him.

She had tried to put herself in his position. She'd tried to imagine what it would feel like to find out her parents weren't Ned and Catelyn Stark. She tried to imagine how that might hurt her soul and damage her already wounded heart. The truth was, she couldn't imagine it. She was a Stark through and through. Her entire identity now, everything that kept her safe and brought her honor, was based upon being a Stark.

Of course, Jon was still a Stark. He had the blood of the Wolf running through him, but his father was a Dragon. That meant Jon's seal and sigil should be changed. With all they knew about the Targaryen's, or perhaps all they didn't know, she couldn't imagine Jon surging with pride at the idea of revealing his patronage publically.

She sighed and looked down at Arya. She'd been the most stubborn of them all after finding out. Refusing to let anyone tell her differently, Arya declared Jon was as much a Stark as any of them and he'd be her brother until her dying day. Bran kept trying to tell her it was important that they embrace him as a Targaryen so Jon would accept it himself.

_"It's crucial," Bran said to Arya. "That he finds a way to identify as a Targaryen. So much depends on it, Arya. You have to trust me. You have to trust Jon. He's still your kin, after all."_

_"He's my brother," Arya said, her angry eyes set on her brother. "Maybe you all have forgotten, but he was raised right alongside us. We called him 'brother' not 'cousin'."_

_"Theon Greyjoy was raised among us too, but that doesn't make him a Stark or a brother. Jon has a chance her; a chance to follow his heart and set things right. He could align himself with his Aunt, the Mother of Dragons, and together they could usher in an era of peace. Together they could defeat the night and bring back the summer. He could follow in father's footsteps and be Warden of the North with Sansa at his side."_

_Arya glanced at her sister, her expression faltering for only a second. When she looked back at Bran, she put her hands on her hips defiantly._

_"Fine, let's say it's okay now because they're just cousins. The whole world sees them as siblings. How are you going to prove that what you say is true and not just something made up so they wouldn't look like the Lannister twins?"_

_"I'm still working that part out," Bran said honestly._

_Sansa stepped forward, putting her hand on Arya's shoulder. She smiled down at her, though inside, she was falling apart._

_"Thank you, Arya. For loving him the way you do. Don't ever stop standing up for him. Don't ever stop speaking your mind, even when everyone tells you you're wrong. You say what you feel is right so that at least you know you've honored yourself no matter what happens. And you stand beside him when he returns. Stark or Targaryen, brother or cousin, Warden or not; you make sure he knows nothing has changed and you're still there."_

_Arya nodded once and Sansa leaned down, kissing her forehead._

Sansa sighed and laid her head back against the wall. Nothing made sense anymore. How she had found herself in such a confusing world, she hadn't a clue. All she wanted was to feel safe and loved and give love in return. She wanted to protect her siblings and extend that protection to cover all the Northern Houses.

Most of all, she wanted to get inside Jon's head. She wanted to know if he was okay and what he planned to do next. A distant part of her mind, a part she wouldn't let herself think about too much, hoped that he'd let himself love her now.

Sansa lifted her head as the creak of her door opening drew her attention. She inhaled sharply when she saw him walk through the door. His hair and cloak were covered in a layer of snow and the sharp contrast of it against his dark hair complemented the stormy look in his eyes. He closed the door behind himself and removed his cloak and leathers before walking toward the sisters.

Sansa couldn't take her eyes off him. For a moment she wondered if she had fallen asleep and was dreaming.

Jon knelt down in front of her and put his hand on Arya's head, stroking her hair in place of Sansa's stilled hand. Sansa felt her lungs constricting, using every ounce of her control to keep from pushing Arya off her so she could throw herself into his arms. Jon slid his arms under Arya and lifted her, holding her against his chest as he carried her to bed.

Once he had covered Arya with furs, he turned back to Sansa, who was still frozen with anticipation in front of the fireplace. Jon strode over to her and knelt back down in front of her. They stared at one another for a moment until Jon leaned forward, lifting Sansa into his arms as he had done Arya. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the snow from his hair as it fell upon her.

Sansa's eyes never left Jon's face. There were a few fresh cuts, small and jagged, across his cheeks and temple. His beard had been trimmed a bit and was shorter than it had been when he'd returned from Castle Black. It was the dark circles under his eyes that were most pronounced, though.

They said nothing as Jon carried her from the room and down the corridor to his chambers. Sansa was so alive with energy and nerves she thought she might lose her ale on him. Still, she clung to him.

When he laid her on the bed in his room, lowering his body onto hers, Sansa felt the moisture leak from the corners of her eyes. Jon smiled gently and wiped one of the tears away with his thumb before resting his forehead against hers. His words were barely a whisper, yet to Sansa they were as loud as the sound of her heartbeat.

"I'm home, beauty."


	5. PART V

# Part V

Jon rested his hand on the side of Sansa's face, his thumb still wet with her tears. She stared up at him, scarcely breathing and unblinking. Her arms were still locked around his neck as Jon dipped his head, capturing her lips with his. Her lips melted into his and she released the breath she'd been holding. Jon felt her legs rise from the bed and wrap around his waist, holding him on top of her.

They clung to one another and Jon felt the cold leave his body as she breathed her life into him. Sansa's tongue moved against Jon's and a tremble ran through his body. Forcing himself to draw away, he stared down at her, their chests rising and falling in unison. Sansa stared up at him expectantly and he felt her tighten her grip on him.

"Are you really home?" she whispered, hope filling her eyes.

"I'm home."

"What made you decide -?"

"Tormund," Jon said with a bit of a shrug. "He reminded me of what's really important: Keeping you, Arya, and Bran safe. Extending that protection over the entire North and the Free Folk. I can't do that from Castle Black or anywhere else."

Jon paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"I'm a Targaryen, Sansa. Whatever that has meant in the past, whatever connotation or implication therein, I have a chance to change it. They say Daenerys Targaryen is fair and just. She's not like her father. Maybe if we're the only two living Targaryen's, we can change what it means to be a Dragon."

Sansa's expression was blank, whether due to respect or concern, he wasn't sure. He smiled and kissed her lips gently before looking at her once more.

"I don't think your father would want me to leave you here. I think he'd want me to take care of you and I think he'd want me to make this world bend to my will rather than I to it."

"So you're staying? I mean, with me?"

Jon nodded and traced his thumb over her lip.

"If you'll have me."

"Now, tomorrow, and always," Sansa said.

Jon grinned and kissed his woman with every ounce of need within him. He hadn't forgotten what she tasted like, but he'd forgotten the little details like the way she'd hum into his mouth when he stroked her tongue with his. He'd forgotten the feel of her pulse racing under his hand while he cradled her neck. Perhaps most surprisingly, he'd forgotten the way it felt to spread his palm over her flat stomach, feeling the arch of her ribs along the edge of his fingertips.

Jon was removing what remained of his clothing before Sansa had a chance to do so herself. She watched him, her eyes hungry and needy in a way that set Jon's blood afire. He smirked as he stripped the last article of clothing from his body, tossing it to the side as he turned his attention to her. He gripped her dress, ripping it down the middle in one swift motion.

Sansa kept trying to take control of the situation, making Jon smile. Every time he'd begin kissing down her body, she'd try to flip them so she was on top of him or she'd pull his head back up to her mouth, claiming him once more. Finally, Jon took both her hands in one of his and held them to the bed above her head. Making the most of her temporary immobilization, Jon explored her body with his lips, tracing her peaks and valleys with his tongue.

By the time he'd reached her sex, he no longer needed to hold her hands above her head. Sansa gripped the pillow under her head so tightly, her knuckles had turned white. Jon chuckled to himself and spread her thighs apart, tracing his tongue over her skin slowly. He'd only just begun to revel in the taste of her when she arched her back off the bed and he felt her come apart beneath him.

She reached for him then, pulling him up her body by his hair. In a distant part of his mind, Jon registered the pain resulting from her enthusiasm and it only made him want her more. Drunk from his want and love for her, he kissed her deeply. They were all hands and moans; pulling and pushing at one another, begging and pleading, writhing and grinding.

"Love me," Sansa whimpered, clinging to his shoulders. "As only you can."

Jon took her then, his movements far less gentle than he had intended; lust ridding him of any control he may have had. Sansa's screams, the feel of her teeth on his shoulder, her nails digging into his lower back… It was all too much for him. He poured himself into her warmth as her name fell from her lips.

Sansa rolled them suddenly, pinning him to the bed as she rocked her hips back and forth on him, milking his orgasm. The relentlessness of her movements combined with the sight of her naked body in the moonlight mesmerized Jon and he watched her intently. Despite having already found his release, Jon quickly released he wasn't done with her yet. Or perhaps she wasn't done with him.

Moans filled the air as Sansa shifted, bringing her feet up near Jon's shoulders, her hands behind her on the bed to brace her weight. At this angle, Jon was suddenly buried inside her in a way he had never experienced before. Sansa must have felt it too because her head fell back, her red hair cascading onto his legs.

Jon held onto her hips, helping guide her movements. He could feel her muscles tightening and his eyes fell upon a bead of sweat rolling down the valley between Sansa's breasts. When he could take no more, he sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist. He held her against his body as he thrust up into her, whispering into her ear.

"Come apart for me, beauty. Let me feel you give yourself to me."

Sansa screamed, burying her face in his neck. Her muscles clamped down on him, driving him over the edge once more. As the aftershocks took him, making him shake against her, Jon felt Sansa kiss his neck languidly. They collapsed onto the bed and Jon pulled away from Sansa carefully, making her moan as she felt him leave her body.

Almost immediately, Sansa burrowed herself into his body and he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. They lay together for a few moments enjoying the silence as their breathing regulated. Eventually, Jon felt her pull away enough that she could look up at him.

"Does this mean we're…?"

"I was thinking about the godswood. It's as good a place as any and probably the place we'll feel most connected to father. It should mainly just be us; Arya and Bran, Davos, Tormund, Brienne. As much as I don't want to think about the politics of it, inviting Lyanna Mormont would probably help in convincing the other Houses to support us."

Sansa sat up a little, leaning on her elbow. Jon could feel her staring at him, but he kept his eyes fixed to a point above him.

"What are you talking about?"

Jon looked at her as he traced his thumb over her shoulder.

"Our wedding ceremony. That is, if you're willing to bind yourself to a Targaryen."

He felt the smirk on his lips and it only grew larger as Sansa's eyes widened and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, nodding slowly.

"Targaryen, Stark, or Snow… You're my Jon. And you're the only man I'll ever have again."

She kissed him then and didn't stop until Jon felt her movements grow slow and heavy. When sleep took her and her movements finally stilled, Jon allowed himself to succumb to sleep. It was the first time he'd slept a full night in months.

##### XXXX

Brienne paced outside Jamie's door, thankful Lady Stark had not required guards be placed at his door after he returned from his mission. She had yet to visit his chambers since he'd returned. She'd always had a slight flutter of nervousness in her stomach when she'd visited him before, but now that he'd placed such a heavy importance on her next visit, she'd felt completely disarmed. She rolled her eyes at herself.

_You're being ridiculous,_ she thought. _Even if you go in there with your armor on, it doesn't mean anything. It really only matters if you go in without it. Then he'll know…_

With one hand on her breast plate and the other resting on the pommel of Oathkeeper, Brienne's steps came to a stop and she glanced at the door. She had tried to imagine what would happen if he opened the door to find her without her armor on. Even as she thought about it, she felt her stomach leap into her throat. It would be so much easier if she entered with armor on. She could pretend the conversation had never happened and there wasn't something life shattering about to happen.

_But if you go in with armor on, there may never be another chance._

Brienne groaned and put her hands on the back of her head, spinning in a frustrated circle. When she came to a stop, her hands moved of their own accord, pulling her belt off. She leaned Oathkeeper against the wall and her hands moved back to her armor, unfastening the straps along the side. She removed her shoulder and arm guards, tossing them down next to Oathkeeper. She was just about to lift the unfastened chest armor from her body when Jamie's door opened.

He leaned against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest, amusement etched into his features. Brienne froze, absolutely no words of explanation coming to mind. She watched as Jamie's eyes moved over her body, lingering on the straps of her armor before moving to the pile on the floor. When he looked at her again, she was forced back a step by the intensity in his eyes. She'd never seen anything like it when swords weren't involved.

Jamie stepped forward until he was standing chest to chest with her. Brienne held his gaze while his hands moved hers away from her armor. Instinctively, Brienne slapped his hands away causing Jamie to roll his eyes at her. He put his hands over hers and Brienne felt his thumb stroke her palm gently. Such a simple thing really, yet Brienne felt her body surge with energy. Slowly, Jamie lowered her arms to her side and patted them as though telling her to leave them there.

His hands moved up, gripping the sides of her armor. He pulled it from her body with such care it only served to unnerve her further. Once removed, Jamie picked up Oathkeeper and the rest of her armor from the floor. He carried it all into his chambers while Brienne remained rooted to the spot. When he poked his head out the door several moments later, Brienne was annoyed to see he was laughing. He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her into his room.

With the door closed behind them, Brienne realized just how bad an idea it had been to come tonight. Her eyes fell on her armor in the corner of the room, Oathkeeper propped up next to it. She wanted so badly to grab it all up and run from the room, but Jamie was still behind her blocking the door. And anyway, there was a part of her, however scared and timid, that wanted to see what would happen next.

Brienne smelled Jamie before she felt his hands on her. He smelled of soap and sandalwood with hints of orange. It made her lightheaded.

Jamie's hands moved down her shoulders and arms. She was glad she still had her leathers and underclothes on so he couldn't feel the bumps rising on her skin under his touch. Brienne felt Jamie's breath on her ear and her eyes fluttered closed as her heart twisted in her chest.

"Do you remember the day in the bath?"

Brienne nodded slightly and he continued, his hands moving back up her arms slowly.

"It was the first time I realized there was anything soft about you. Not just the curves of your body, though I noticed that despite the situation. It was the way you looked at me; it wasn't pity at my confession, nor loathing for my weakness. You looked at me with respect and understanding. And when I collapsed in your arms, your panic and fear for me showed affection."

Jamie's hands moved to Brienne's waist and she felt herself grow even more rigid than she already was despite his gentleness.

"I didn't deserve it then and I may not deserve it now, though I'm trying to, but I was always thankful for your respect. Somehow it reminded me that I had honor once and if I had it once, maybe I could have it again."

Brienne felt herself lean back against him as his voice and breath on her neck weakened her. His arms wrapped around her waist as his words continue to flow over her.

"I don't know what love is. I thought I did, but I don't. All I know now is you're the only person I trust; the only one I can rely on. You're the reason I want to prove I can be better than what the world thinks of me."

Brienne gasped when she felt Jamie's lips on her neck. He barely grazed her, yet she felt his touch all the way in her toes.

"Do you know how difficult it is spending every evening with you trying to get you to loosen up a bit? Watching you keep your distance and stay so serious all the time. All I've wanted to do is make you laugh."

Brienne frowned and tilted her head to the side a bit so she could see him.

"I've laughed."

Jamie nodded, chuckling against her skin.

"Four times, Brienne. I've gotten you to laugh four times. Not that I'm complaining; those were the best four moments I can remember."

Brienne felt her face flush and was horrified that it was that moment Jamie picked to turn her so she was facing him. Immediately, her eyes lowered, focusing on his stubble instead of his eyes. He hadn't shaved in a couple days, she realized, and she liked it that way. It made her want to run her tongue over his skin and –

"Brienne?"

She pulled her eyes from his beard and looked up at him.

"Hmm?"

"If you're going to trace your tongue over your lips like that, don't expect me not to do the same."

Brienne gasped at the same moment that Jamie leaned forward, his hand on the back of her neck, and ran his tongue over her bottom lip. It wasn't even a kiss, Brienne realized. It was far more intimate and far less innocent than a kiss. She leaned forward automatically as he began to pull away, capturing his lips with her own. Jamie groaned; a deep, haunting sound emanating from his throat as he gripped her tighter.

Brienne gave herself to the moment. She wrapped her arms around Jamie, pulling him against her as she clawed at his back, lifting his shirt. Jamie spun her, pressing her back against the door of his room. Brienne's eyes flew open when she felt him hard and wanting against her thigh. Suddenly every bone in her body seemed to disintegrate as she melted into him, letting him hold her up.

Jamie pulled away, still holding her with his hips, and began lifting her leathers over her head. It only took a matter of seconds before she was standing before him stark naked. If not for the heated look in his eyes, Brienne may have moved to cover herself. As it were, all she could focus on was her need to see his body uncovered.

She pulled at his clothes hungrily as their mouths melded together once more. He tasted of ale and bread with a trace of cinnamon. By the time Jamie stepped out of his pants and lifted her, holding her against the door with her legs wrapped around his waist, Brienne was blind with need and desire. Nothing mattered anymore; not honor, respect, love, loyalty, winter, or death. The only thing that mattered was his body against hers and his breath filling her lungs.

Brienne gasped against Jamie's lips when he entered her; he stilled and drew back to look at her. She knew then he'd felt it: he knew he'd been her first. Almost as though a switch had been flipped, Jamie's movements changed from frantic and needy to careful and tender. He gave her time to adjust and for the pain to recede, kissing her shoulder while he stroked his thumb over her cheek. She could feel him pulsing inside her and knew he was using all his restraint to keep from driving into her. When he finally did move once more, Brienne felt a shock of pleasure mix with the pain.

Still moving inside her, Jamie moved his hands under Brienne's thighs, holding her against him as he pulled her away from the door and moved to his bed, laying her down carefully.

"Stop me if it's too much…"

Brienne shook her head adamantly, halting his words. She could find no voice of her own as she was so overwhelmed by sensation and feeling. All she could do was watch him as he hovered above her, his eyes locked on hers. When his hips rocked forward, driving him into her fully, she felt her world shift. She hadn't realized just how empty she'd been inside. Now that she felt the fullness of him, she realized what a lonely existence she'd led.

"Jamie," she whispered, drawing his attention and his lips away from her breasts. His eyes were so dark and heavy Brienne felt a chill run through her body.

"Say it again," his whispered. "No one has ever said my name the way you do."

Brienne clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he moved within her. She whispered his name repeatedly, her whispers gradually growing into moans as he claimed her body. With each passing of his name from her lips, Jamie's intensity increased until he threw his head back and stilled deep inside her. Brienne came apart as she heard him moan her name and felt his warmth fill her depths.

Jamie fell to the bed beside her and Brienne felt the evidence of their passion seep down her thighs and onto the bed. Part of her was horrified to be in such a vulnerable state; the other part of her soared at the thought of him coming undone inside her.

Brienne closed her eyes tightly as she felt the weight of the world begin to return to her shoulders; reality reminding her of who she was and how absurd the idea of loving and being loved by Jamie Lannister truly was. Slowly, her arms came up, wrapping around her body as she shifted away from him. She felt his head turn to look at her and when Jamie sat up to see her better, she turned her face from him.

"Brienne," he said, putting his hand on her chin. He pulled her face back toward him and when she looked into his eyes, she was stilled. "Stay with me. You can be Brienne of Tarth with all the responsibilities and duties that entails outside this room. You can be every bit as serious and awkward as you normally are, but only outside of this room. In here… stay with me. Stay Jamie's Brienne."

Brienne felt the air leave her lungs in a rush and she nodded once.

"I'm yours."

##### XXXX

Jamie Lannister sat the Small Council table directly across from Jon Snow. When his eyes weren't on Brienne, they were on Jon and Sansa. Their chairs were so close together their arms were touching and their hands disappeared under the table. Jamie remembered sitting that way with Cersei on several occasions while in the presence of their father, Robert, and countless other Lords and Ladies. He had no doubt Jon currently had grasp of Sansa's hand under the table.

He allowed his mind to wander. How had he missed it? Their connection… It was plain as day now that he was paying attention. Maybe that was it. He'd spent so much time studying Brienne's face, he'd forgotten to pay attention to anyone else.

Well he was paying attention now.

Jamie's head tilted to the side as he watched Jon lean over and whisper something into his sister's ear. Sansa nodded once and smiled in a way sisters didn't normally smile at their brothers. When Jon turned back again, his eyes landed on Jamie and narrowed.

"Remind me again why the Kingslayer is a part of these meetings now."

Jamie saw Brienne shift slightly as she stood behind Sansa and he had to fight the impulse to glance at her. Instead, he kept his eyes on Jon.

"He saved your best friend's life and fulfilled the mission given to him. He's given me advice on more than one occasion and I believe he's useful to us. And because I'm the Queen and I will it so."

Jon turned to look at his sister and Jamie saw amusement replace the annoyance previously written across his face.

"Am I not King then?"

Sansa bit her lip seductively and Jamie raised an eyebrow. This time he did glance at Brienne, though he knew she hadn't seen it from behind Sansa. Brienne met his gaze, her serious expression more familiar than ever. Jamie scanned the faces of the other members seated at the table and then set his focus on the siblings once more.

"You didn't want to be Warden of the North in the first place and it turns out I'm pretty good at it," Sansa said before leaning forward to whisper into Jon's ear, causing his grin to grow. Jamie couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the words 'my king' on her lips. He rolled his eyes and gave his best exasperated sigh as he sat back in his seat.

"Does everyone else here know the two of you are fucking?"

Sansa gasped and Jon's eyes widened with rage, but not a single other member of the council gave any reaction whatsoever. Even Brienne glanced away from Jamie so as not to give anything away, though of course she already had with that one gesture.

"Apparently so. Alright. Glad we're all on the same page."

Davos cleared his throat pointedly, drawing all eyes to him.

"We should return to the topic we called this meeting for: Dealing with Cersei's spies and getting the Mad Queen off the throne."

Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Any time his lovely sister was the topic of conversation, he was forced to give an opinion on what to do with her. In reality, he'd come to Winterfell in hopes they would remove her from the throne, but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to there when it happened.

Jon glanced at Davos and then nodded, regaining his composure. His eyes met Jamie's and Jamie immediately knew what was coming.

"What would you recommend, Kingslayer?"

Jamie felt the corner of his mouth pick up a bit at the sound of Brienne's loud and obvious sigh. She apparently hated hearing him called that just as much as he hated it himself.

"I recommended sending their heads back to her as a warning, but that may be a little too Lannister for your liking. The Starks have always been a bit… Gentler in their political dealings. You're not going to get any information out of them. She wouldn't have sent anyone who was worth anything to you, I can promise you that."

"This may be a radical idea," Tormund said, drawing all eyes to him. "But has anyone actually talked to them?"

Jon looked to Sansa who had been the one to deal with the spies when they were brought back. She shrugged and lifted her ale to her lips.

"They didn't have anything to say."

Jamie glanced at Brienne and then at Jon. He was looking at his sister as though she had grown an extra head. He turned finally, looking at Tormund who nodded knowingly. Apparently he'd be the one to "talk" with the spies once more.

"Let's resume that conversation another time. Now what's to be done about –"

A knock at the door interrupted Jon's words and Jamie watched as Arya jumped up with the white direwolf at her heels. When she returned, she held a roll of parchment in her hands and was looking at Sansa with hesitation.

"It has the Lannister seal, but it's got your name on it."

Arya handed the scroll to Sansa and Jamie couldn't help but rise to his feet. He watched as she broke the seal and set it on the table. He reached across and picked it up, putting the two pieces back together to form the sigil of his house. Sansa unfurled the parchment and Jon leaned over her shoulder, reading it with her. When they were done, both their eyes rose to Jamie's. He felt his heart stop automatically.

Jon took the parchment from his sister's hands and passed it to Jamie. As though not in control of his own movements, Jamie took the parchment and walked away from the table, standing by the window where he could read it alone. When he saw his brother's handwriting, he knew what had happened.

_"Lady Stark,_

_It is my deepest hope this letter finds you well. The news of your marriage to Ramsay Bolton reached me even across the Narrow Sea. Many nights I have lain awake thinking of the horrors you no doubt have suffered; wishing I had kept you safe myself rather than entrusting your safety to others. For this, my gravest mistake, I will always carry regret and shame. I would not ask your forgiveness, but I would ask you to believe me when I say you deserve so much better than the men who have been given you thus far._

_I hope you might take some comfort in knowing many of the individuals who have been responsible for the death of your childhood and innocence have met their own demise. My sister, most recently._

_Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen has taken the Iron Throne. Our fleet arrived in Westeros this very morning. My dearly departed sister had traps set for us, but how do you trap a dragon? I'll tell you, my dear Sansa, you do not. They don't take kindly to it._

_I have informed our Queen of the history of the North and those who rule it. My understanding is you and Jon have formed a sort of partnership, though I am unclear on which of you is the actual Warden of the North. Regardless, instinct tells me neither of you would seek the Iron Throne. Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps not. I believe it best to discuss your intentions with you both personally. My Queen agrees. We shall fly to Westeros in a week's time. On dragonback. Did I ever tell you about my love for dragons? Who would have thought the Demon Monkey, the Imp of House Lannister, would one day get to ride one?_

_I digress. Please give your brother my best; I was very pleased to hear of his rise both at the Wall and in the North. I look forward to seeing you once more and I hope you will count me as a friend._

_And Sansa, if my brother has found his way to you, which I expect he will have, tell him his brother is eager to see him once more._

_Tyrion"_

Jamie finished reading the parchment and let it fall to the floor, his eyes finding a spot out the window to study. Emotion overwhelmed him. Relief had flooded him the second he saw Tyrion's handwriting, but it had been followed immediately by the icy realization of Cersei's death. Despite everything, who she had become and what she had done, he mourned for the woman he'd once known.

He felt Brienne behind him, though she made no moves to touch him or offer words of comfort. He understood. There really weren't any words of comfort that can be given to a man who just lost his sister, who had been his lover his entire life, when she had become, undeniably, a monster. Jamie also couldn't expect Brienne to try to comfort him given her own feelings for him. And he would never ask her to.

To his surprise, it was Sansa who stepped up beside him and took his hand. When his eyes found hers, he felt something tighten in his chest. She stared up at him with sadness and understanding in her eyes.

"Each of us has a side to us we don't allow anyone to see. Only those whom we love and love us in return may get glimpses of it from time to time. I believe it's in those glimpses that you found something in Cersei worth loving. Hold onto those memories, Ser Jamie. But don't forget the reason you came here; you understood better than anyone how far she was willing to go."

Jamie nodded and kissed the back of Sansa's hand before releasing it. He stepped away, his eyes meeting Brienne's. She held his gaze and he saw her wavering; part of her, Jamie's Brienne, wanted to act freely. The other part of her, Brienne of Tarth, could not let her steely composure drop. He actually respected it; she knew her place in the world and understood her own worth.

It was more than Jamie could say for himself.

##### XXXX

Sansa sat in the snow with her back to the godswood. Jon was lying beside her, his head in her lap. They had started meeting here often lately, and usually without having planned it. During Jon's absence on his trip to Castle Black, Sansa had decreed that no one, save Brienne and only in case of crisis, was permitted to bother her at the godswood. Despite the cold, or perhaps because of it, this was where they felt the most secure in their affections for one another. Even at night, they were always in danger of someone barging into Jon's room, which is where they usually slept.

Sansa ran her fingers through Jon's hair while he read aloud from one of her father's journals. She found herself focusing on the timber of Jon's voice rather than the words he spoke. She'd already read the journals herself, so she was more than familiar with her father's words. She had a feeling Jon had already finished them also, yet he spent most of his free time buried in them.

As her mind turned to her relationship with Jon, as it so often did, she felt the familiar pang of anxiety strike her. They were still keeping it a secret since no one new about Jon's patronage yet. She wanted so badly to come up with a plan so they wouldn't have to live in secret forever.

"Jon," she said, glancing down at him. He placed the journal on his chest and stared up at her with his gentle eyes.

"Sansa," he replied with a smirk.

"What are we going to do? We can't do this forever… Sneaking around. We're not even particularly good at it, apparently. Ser Jamie took one look at us –"

"Well he would know, wouldn't he?"

"I'm just saying. Everyone thinks we're siblings. How are we going to prove we're not? How do we prove Rhaegar was your real father?"

Jon sighed, shaking his head a little. Sansa continued moving her fingers through his hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp from time to time. He still had a hard time talking about his patronage, she knew. It was like a veil dropped over his features and the real Jon hid from the world.

"I don't know how to prove it, yet. I'm not sure there's even a way to do so. Right now, my only plan is to talk with Daenerys when she arrives. Perhaps she'll know something we don't."

"It's strange to imagine you having an aunt from across the sea," Sansa said with a smile. "I wonder what she's like."

"We'll know soon enough, I suppose."

Sansa nodded and Jon lifted the journal off his chest once more, setting his eyes upon it while Sansa watched. There were times she found him to be so stunningly beautiful she couldn't fathom not having noticed him before. She had just been too busy with all the things she thought would make her a proper lady. Befriending a sullen bastard had not been one of those things.

"You're staring," Jon said, eyes still on the journal.

"Not staring; admiring."

"I spend hours of my life staring at you, Sansa. I know very well what it looks like."

"And what do you see when you stare at me?"

Jon closed the journal and looked up at her for a moment before pulling himself into a sitting position. He sat facing her, his chest pressed against hers with his right arm crossed over her body, his hand holding him up. Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat as the intensity in his eyes washed over her.

"Survival," he said. "Not just your own, but mine as well. In you I see strength and hope. I see a Queen and a lady; a warrior and an angel. I see your scars, Sansa. I can run my fingers over them and feel your blood race under your skin, alive and vibrant. I see the way the handmaidens look at you as you pass; awestruck and unafraid. You inspire loyalty from all those around you because you are strong and faithful; you stand up even to me for what you know is right."

Sansa allowed a smile to pass over her lips. She had stood up to Jon more than once since he'd returned. It wasn't that he didn't know how to rule; she just thought sometimes he got a little shortsighted and she had to remind him to look for what cannot be seen.

With a contented sigh, Sansa leaned forward, pressing her lips to Jon's. He kissed her back readily, his hand moving from the snow to her hip, squeezing firmly. With just that one touch, Sansa felt blood race to her loins, the gentle swell of pulsing need growing within her. She kissed him back, drawing her hands up to his neck as she lost herself in him. Even the growing numbness in her legs and backside could not distract from the pure pleasure his lips gave her.

They poured themselves into one another, breathing each other's life and giving a little of their own back. Sansa had never felt the peace she felt when Jon was with her. It made her feel as though she'd had too much ale, but in the happiest way possible.

The crunch of footsteps in the snow drew them apart and Sansa looked up to see a plump looking man around Jon's age all clad in black.

"Who –," she began, but Jon leapt to his feet the second he looked over his shoulder.

"Mighty comfortable you look, Snow."

Sansa leaned to the side so she could see past Jon's legs. The man had the look of the Wall, despite his extra weight. The only thing that was different from the men she'd met at the Wall when she'd first been reunited with Jon was the look in this man's eyes. He was beaming, she realized. His eyes shined brightly and the grin on his face made her feel happy despite her confusion.

"Sam," Jon breathed.

In a flurry of motion, Sansa saw the two men collide in an embrace. She couldn't help but laugh as Sam's hands left prints in the snow crusted on Jon's cloak. Sansa rose to her feet slowly, dusting the snow from her cloak and dress. She felt the chill from the frozen powder deep in her bones, yet it bothered her not. She hung back respectfully, trying to give the brothers a moment. Of course, she'd heard of Sam many times. Jon mentioned him frequently in conversation as though Sansa knew him well and they'd all been lifelong friends. She knew Jon worried for his friend after he'd left Castle Black. There'd been no word from him in the many, many months since then.

When they finally pulled apart, Jon and Sam clasped each other's forearms, laughing together. It made Sansa laugh along with them just sharing in their joy.

"How did you…?"

"Edd."

"He sent a—"

"Aye, to the Citadel."

"And Gilly?"

"She and little Sam are up at the castle with Tormund."

Sansa giggled as the two men stood together just grinning and nodding at one another. It was good to see Jon with his best friend. Even Tormund, whom Sansa really enjoyed generally, was clearly not as close to Jon as Sam.

"Sorry," Jon said suddenly, shaking his head as though shaking himself out of a trance. "Come meet my…"

Jon met Sansa's eyes and she felt some of her happiness fade at his hesitation. She stepped forward to greet Sam, curtseying politely.

"Sansa, My Lord."

Sam's eyes lit up with understanding and he grinned happily looking from Sansa to Jon.

"Your sister? You found her?"

"I found him," Sansa said before Jon could reply. "At Castle Black. I'm pleased to meet you, Sam. I've heard so much about you."

"It's my pleasure, Lady Stark. An honor, really. Any family of Jon's... Only…"

Sam frowned and looked from Sansa to Jon. Sansa could see the confused realization dawn upon him as his eyes moved past them to the godswood where he'd found them mid-kiss. When he looked at Jon again, his brows were drawn together in cautious inquiry.

Jon sighed and took Sansa's hand, entwining their fingers.

"We have a lot to discuss, Sam. Starting with how I'm the son of a Targaryen, as it turns out, and I'm in love with the woman everyone thinks is my sister."

"Targaryen?" Sam took a step back as though the information had knocked the wind out of him. "Which one?"

"Rhaegar. With Ned's sister."

"Lyanna?"

Jon nodded and Sam ran a hand over his beard.

"Gods, Jon. And I thought my love life was complicated."

Jon laughed, earning a grin from Sam, and just like that the tension in the air was gone.

"But why are you here, Sam?"

"I found a way to stop them, Jon. The wights. I heard there are dragons again. We can use them to help us make dragonglass. That'll stop the wights. The Citadel… Jon, I've never seen anything like it. It was beautiful. All the books and scrolls. I spent weeks there just reading. I didn't even leave. Anyway, I found a scroll that tells how they used to make dragonglass. I borrowed it – temporarily – to help us. But we need… well, your aunt, I guess she is."

Sansa hitched her dress up out of the snow, realizing they'd be entertaining guests for at least a week or more. She stepped forward past Jon and Sam, heading back to the castle.

"Best make up chambers for you, Sam. Sounds like you'll be staying for a while."

She smiled at him over her shoulder and saw him nod his head in gratitude. As she rounded the corner exiting the godswood, she saw Brienne and Tormund standing in the courtyard. Tormund had a child, presumably Sam's son, held in the air over his head. Brienne was standing to the side with a slender girl with delicate features. Sansa couldn't help but notice the way Brienne watched Tormund with rapt fascination. In her own mind, Sansa found she was equally fascinated with the way this beast of a man was so alive with boyish energy as he played with the child.

When she approached, Tormund drew the child to his chest and turned to her, grinning.

"Found me a minion. Figure if I get started now, I can have him trained by the time he's strong enough to carry a sword. My very own squire; can you believe it?"

Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes at Tormund, coming to a stop in front of him and the child.

"We might have a word with his father about that before you go around commandeering babies, shall we?"

Sansa heard a soft giggle behind her and turned to see the young woman, Gilly she thought her name was, covering her mouth. She lowered herself to one knee before Sansa, bowing her head in respect.

"My name is Gilly, Your Grace. I'm honored to meet you."

Sansa stepped forward and pulled Gilly to her feet, smiling at the shy girl. She pulled her into a hug and when she released her, Gilly looked confused out of her mind.

"Jon speaks fondly of you and Sam, Gilly. And any friend of Jon's is welcome in my home any time."

"Thank you," she said softly, smiling in return. She nodded toward the baby and Sansa turned, following her gaze.

"That's little Sam, there. He's our son."

Sansa watched as little Sam slapped his palm against Tormund's cheek, squealing with glee each time Tormund recoiled dramatically. She stepped forward, greeting the child with a kiss to his forehead. He stopped moving suddenly and reached for her with both arms. Tormund deposited him into Sansa's arms and she held him up, most of his weight supported on her hip.

"He'll be a mighty warrior, Gilly. Already starting fights with men ten times his size."

Gilly laughed at Tormund's comment and shook her head slightly.

"He'll be a scholar too, just like his father."

Sansa reached out with her free hand and put her arm through Gilly's, guiding her into the castle as she bounced the baby on her hip. For the first time, Sansa wondered what it might be like to carry her own child on her hip. She wondered if her own son would be a warrior like Jon. The thought of a child with Jon's dark hair and her clear eyes drew her to a stop in the corridor of the castle.

"My Lady?" Brienne said, stepping next to her. "Are you alright?"

Sansa glanced at Brienne and then at little Sam, imagining Jon's child instead. The image was so strong and so compelling she felt her heart speed up. She nodded slowly and stepped forward once more, pulling Gilly with her.

"I'm more than alright, Brienne. For the first time in a long time."


	6. PART VI

# PART VI

Davos held his ground at Jon's back. Tormund stood beside him and Brienne beside Tormund. Lady Stark released Jon's hand. She placed it over her chest, tracing the direwolf embroidered there. Beside her, Arya stood tall with her hand on her little sword, ready for any challenge to come. Bran had been deposited into a chair that Tormund had fashioned with wheels. Since then, Arya had taken to pushing him all over Winterfell, despite Jon's protests.

Each of them looked to the sky as the dragons descended upon them. Two of them peeled off, soaring into the air and out of sight as the third, the one carrying the Mother of Dragons, dove to the ground, landing with a thud.

Instinct kept Davos breathing; awe made him forget everything else. Never had he seen anything more impressive or terrifying than the great beast before him. And, quite frankly, Davos had seen some shit.

They watched as Tyrion Lannister, known only to Davos by his height, climbed down from the dragon. Davos hadn't even realized he'd been seated behind the Mother of Dragons until he'd jumped down from the dragon's wing. Davos watched as Tyrion stretched his back and dusted himself off. From the back of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen stood and jumped gracefully from the side of her dragon. She landed in a crouch and then rose to her feet beside Tyrion.

Something about the two of them standing side by side felt significant to Davos. Daenerys looked at Tyrion as though he were her equal rather than her attendant. And he looked at her as though he'd die for her. It was quite the sight to behold.

_It's trust,_ he thought to himself. _And respect._

Jon and Lady Stark stepped forward to meet their guests, stopping only a couple yards away. Arya and Bran followed quickly behind them, only momentarily distracted by the dragon. Tyrion set his eyes upon Sansa, his expression bright and affectionate.

"Lady Stark, you look stunning."

"You flatter me, Tyrion."

"Hardly," he replied with a chuckle. "I simply find myself relieved. And maybe a bit mesmerized. You've grown into quite a fierce woman, Sansa Stark."

Tyrion turned his attention to Jon and while he looked him up and down, Davos couldn't help but notice how Daenerys stood back to allow Tyrion to greet his former… Well, friends didn't seem the right word.

"Young Lord Snow, all grown up," Tyrion said before extending his arm to Jon. Jon stared at him for a moment and then took it, the two men grasping forearms.

"Never thought I'd see the day I'd be happy hosting a Lannister in my home."

Tyrion laughed and released Jon. He turned then toward the young Starks, nodding his head in respect.

"You look well, Lord Stark, Lady Stark. All of Westeros thought you might be dead, so I'm glad to see you look very much alive."

He took a step back, turning toward Daenerys. As though on cue, the wind rushed in, lifting her hair from her shoulders. She stepped forward, stopping in front of Jon and Lady Stark.

"Lord Snow, Lady Stark. Thank you for receiving us. I imagine prospect of my arrival upon dragonback may have been a little worrisome."

Jon inclined his head dutifully, not exactly bowing, but paying respect all the same. Davos watched as Lady Stark dipped, offering a perfectly royal curtsy. Suddenly, Davos realized they were dealing with a different Lady Stark than he was used to; this was the calculating Warden of the North who trusted no one.

"You're always welcome in Winterfell, Your Grace."

Daenerys smiled and then turned, looking to the dragon at her back. As though silently prompted, the onyx and scarlet monster rose in the air and was gone. When she turned back, she had a playful smile she directed at Tyrion.

"Best not to test that hospitality, I think."

"We've arranged a feast and tapped into our wine stores," Jon said. "Shall we?"

He held his arm out for Lady Stark and she placed her hand on his arm before turning to lead their guests into the castle. As they passed, Davos, Tormund, and Brienne bowed before bringing up the rear.

As soon as they entered the castle, Jon paused, introducing everyone to one another. Davos was taken aback when Jon called him his Chief Advisor. Once seated in the feast room, Tormund dove into the food, receiving a disbelieving look from Brienne. Davos couldn't help but chuckle as he leaned back in his seat.

"Tormund! Guests first, you fool." Brienne hissed in his ear, her voice was not quite a whisper, which earned a laugh from the Mother of Dragons.

"Its fine, I assure you. It's actually rather encouraging to see a man so comfortable in the presence of those he's allied with."

Tormund winked at Daenerys, earning a grin from her, but a groan from Brienne. Tyrion took the opportunity to seize a wine glass from the table, swallowing the contents before refilling it automatically. Davos watched with intrigue as he then served Daenerys a glass.

"You've come a long way, Your Grace," Jon said beside Davos. "Let us celebrate your arrival. Politics can wait."

Daenerys inclined her head as food was set before her by a serving girl. Davos was served last and was the first to take a bite, signaling the official start of the feast, in true accordance with Northern hospitality. For several moments, they ate in silence. It was Tyrion who finally spoke.

"I couldn't help but notice my brother did not join us."

"Aye," Jon said. "He's not a member of my council. He was held as a prisoner after arriving in Winterfell, though he has been treated as a guest more or less. Sansa has even called upon him for advice from time to time."

"He's well then?"

"He is," Sansa said, taking over for Jon who still wasn't particularly happy with the Kingslayer's presence in Winterfell. "I'd be happy to take you to his quarters after we feast. Or, perhaps Brienne can show you the way."

Davos watched as Brienne sat up a little straighter. Tormund paused mid-bite and all faces turned toward her.

"Ah, Lady Tarth. My brother has spoken fondly of you. I do believe you have my Podrick in your service."

A ghost of a smile passed over Brienne's lips as a flush took her cheeks. It had become abundantly clear to the council that something intimate had developed between Brienne and Jamie. Whereas Brienne wouldn't even look at him most of the time, Jamie spent a great deal of time staring at her.

"Yes, My Lord. Podrick has been invaluable to me."

"And my brother?"

Brienne's flush grew and Davos actually felt badly for her. She worked so hard to ensure she was seen as a competent and skilled fighter rather than "a silly woman with a sword." Somehow, whatever had passed between her and the Kingslayer caused her to lose her composure almost instantly.

"I'm quite fond of him, as well, My Lord."

Tyrion grinned and sat back in his seat, seemingly satisfied with her answer. It was Bran who drew Davos's attention. Suddenly, as though a cloth was dropped over the young master's eyes, Bran was gone. His head dropped forward and even though Davos had seen him warg once before, he was still taken aback by Bran's sudden departure from his own body.

"Is he alright?"

Daenerys leaned forward across the table, reaching for Bran. Arya put her arm around Bran's shoulder, pulling his body against hers. She tucked his head into her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at the Mother of Dragons.

"He's fine."

Daenerys nodded and sat back, glancing at Jon.

"Bran has a gift," Jon said. "One he sometimes forgets the appropriateness of using in public."

"A gift?"

Davos ate quietly while Jon told of Bran's ability and the things he'd seen so far. He left out a few stories, Davos noted, but told more than he held back. Daenerys and Tyrion said little, only asking for clarification once, and listened with rapt attention. When Jon paused and Sansa nodded in his direction, Davos knew the feast had come to an end.

"You've heard, I'm sure, about your brother's flight with Lyanna Stark."

"I have," Daenerys replied. "It's why I've been hunted my entire life."

Jon nodded and took a swallow of his ale before standing. He walked to the fireplace just behind the feast table and stared into the flames for a moment before turning to face them once more.

"Did you know they had a son together?"

"A son? No, I… No. How do you know that?"

"Bran saw it. In one of his visions. Lyanna died after giving birth. Rhaegar was not there; I don't even know if he knew of his son's existence before he was killed. But before Lyanna died, she entrusted her son to her brother. To be raised in secret and kept safe from King Robert."

"A child," Tyrion said, "raised in secret. His mother unknown even to him."

Jon nodded at Tyrion and it was clear Tyrion had figured it out. He lifted his wine glass, staring into it as Jon continued.

"Ned Stark brought me from the South where Lyanna birthed me. He raised me under the guise of his bastard son, born to a nameless Southern whore. He didn't even tell his wife the truth. He let her believe he had dishonored her so he could protect me."

Daenerys rose, walking to where Jon stood at the fireplace.

"Are you saying –"

"He's your nephew," Bran said suddenly. Davos hadn't even realized he'd returned to himself. Daenerys looked at Bran, studying him before looking at Tyrion. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment and then Tyrion spoke.

"I've heard of it. Never seen it myself, but I've heard of people who can do what he can. There's no way to prove it, I suppose, and that's the real problem. For a blood claim like this, there must be some proof; something more substantial than the word of a child who may or may not have a gift."

"Howland Reed was there. He'd be able to tell us if there was a babe brought to Winterfell that day. I haven't gone to see him yet because I wanted you to see his reaction yourself."

Daenerys stared at Jon, apparently letting his words sink in.

"This would make you a Targaryen. Rhaegar's true heir. You could –"

"I don't want it, Your Grace. I assure you, I've no interest in the Iron Throne."

"Then what do you want?"

Jon glanced at Sansa, who rose from the table and moved to stand beside him. Jon slipped his arm around Sansa's back, his hand resting on her hip, as she moved against him. She placed her hand on his chest, staring up at him with affection. Tyrion choked on his wine, sputtering it back into his cup. He stared at the two of them and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, this is good. This is fantastic. Very wise indeed. The power you two would wield…"

"We don't care about power," Sansa said gently. "Jon seeks to keep me safe and I seek to protect the North. That's all we want."

"We want to form an alliance," Jon said, looking to Daenerys. "The North belongs to House Stark. It always has. Sansa is Warden of the North and the other Houses have pledged their loyalty to her. But winter is here and with it comes a war none of us can win alone. We need you. We need your dragons and your armies."

"And why shouldn't I take the North from you right now? Why should I allow you to keep your territories when you've made it clear you're a threat to me?"

Davos had had enough. He stood, slamming his mug to the table.

"He's not a bloody threat. He's the best damn weapon you have aside from those beasts of yours. You don't know him, I get that. But if you did, you'd know he's got no interest in ruling or playing at your little game of thrones. All he wants is to protect his woman, his family, his home, and these lands. He's got thousands who believe in him; thousands who have seen him fight and die for them. You… All you are is an invader with Dragons. You've got no loyalty from the people here. You can come in and command it; you can make promises and seek to rule with fairness and bring peace to the people, but if you don't have the support of Jon Snow and Sansa Stark when you do it, it won't mean anything to the North."

"Dav," Jon said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Davos nodded and then picked up his mug one last time. He took a deep swallow and then set it back down. He bowed stiffly and swept from the room, leaving several pairs of eyes staring after him.

##### XXXX

"There is a way," Daenerys said suddenly. "My dragons could sense the Targaryen bloodline in your veins if it's there. They tolerate Tyrion only because I command it. If you were to go unbidden and unprotected by me…"

"And if for some reason they didn't sense it? You'd have him sacrifice himself just for your need for confirmation?"

Jon watched as Sansa scoffed, turning away from the fire. She sat at the table beside Arya, running her finger along the edge of her wine glass.

"It's not just my need, Lady Stark. If Jon is to declare himself a Targaryen, which I assume he'll do once it's revealed you plan to wed, the whole world will want to know without a doubt he's got the blood of the dragon. I can legitimize him once I know for sure, but taking the word of a… of an injured child…"

"Fine," Jon said. He glanced at Bran who had paled significantly. Still, he trusted Bran's visions and maybe part of him knew there was no going back now. He couldn't be with Sansa if he really was Ned Stark's son. At least, he'd likely start a war doing so. "What do I do?"

"Seems only fitting you would call for Rhaegal. He's the green one. If he comes when you beckon and allows you to become his rider, we'll know."

"And if he doesn't?" Sansa asked, looking at Jon.

Jon stared at Sansa for a moment, his mind flashing with images of them together. Many of them were memories of months past and some were his hope for the future. _One way or another,_ he thought, _your eyes will be the last thing I see in this life._ He offered Sansa a confident smile and turned, striding from the hall.

"Stay here, all of you. You can watch from the window, but don't come outside. If I'm to do this, it has to be now and it has to be without the presence of the Mother of Dragons."

"Jon!" Sansa's voice carried out of the room, following him into the hall. He heard a shuffle and Tormund's voice mixing with Bran's murmurs. Still he pressed forward.

Jon's feet carried him down the corridor until he came to the castle's courtyard. He paused, breathing in the cold air, allowing it to calm his nerves. He continued walking until he was outside the castle gates and into the nearest clearing. He looked into the sky overhead. It was freer of clouds than he'd seen it in weeks. Only certain dark patches hung menacingly nearby.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he breathed in all the familiar scents of home. He smelled pine and ice primarily.

"Alright," he said. "Keep me alive, Rhaegar. This is your namesake I'm about to beckon, after all."

Jon lifted his hand to his mouth, taking one more steadying breath before pushing a whistle through his fingers. He couldn't say why he'd chosen to do so, but the whistle took on a melody he'd never heard before. It started at a high pitch, dropped a bit, and then soared once more.

"Rhaegal!" he called, following it with another whistle.

After only a moment or two, Jon heard the powerful flap of wings cutting through the air. A blur of green and bronze swooped, circling him once before ascending into the sky once more.

"I mean you no harm, Rhaegal!"

Jon's voice sounded far more confident to his own ears than he would have expected it to. He didn't even know if the dragon could understand him, but hoped he'd at least recognize his name.

The ground shook beneath Jon's feet as Rhaegal landed in front of him, his tail slamming into the earth as though in warning. Rhaegal's head swung around as a roar tore from his throat. He huffed at Jon as he stared at him, his nostrils flaring angrily. Jon held his arms up in caution, hoping there was nothing perceived as threatening in his posture.

"Easy, boy. I mean you no harm."

Jon took a step forward, his arms still held aloft. Rhaegal snorted and Jon felt the air of his breath on his face. Standing in front of the beast's face, Jon could only see Rhaegal's teeth. His closed his eyes, conjuring an image of Sansa in his mind. He focused on her beautiful eyes, seeking the peace he always found within.

Rhaegal roared in Jon's face, the force of it nearly knocking him off his feet. Still, he stood before the dragon, eyes closed as he focused on the shades of green in Sansa's eyes. It wasn't until Rhaegal's snout nudged his chest that Jon opened his eyes and found himself staring into the storm of the dragon's eyes. They held one another's gaze. Rhaegal huffed once and then seemed to sniff Jon once more.

Jon felt the air in his lungs leave him in a rush as Rhaegal bowed his head before Jon, his nose touching the ground. Something subconscious guided Jon forward until he was standing on Rhaegal's wing, gripping his spine. He pulled himself onto the dragon's back, straddling him as comfortably as he could.

"Fly," Jon said, leaning forward over the dragon as they kicked off into the air. The cold air blasted Jon, feeling like knives on his cheeks due to the speed of Rhaegal's acceleration. He gripped the beast's spine, his fingers digging into his scales and watched as the castle disappeared below them. Rhaegal pushed through the clouds, flying closer to the sun than Jon had ever been, despite the height of the wall.

Adrenaline, fear, and exhilaration flowed in Jon's veins. This, he realized, is what it meant to be a Targaryen. To be one with the dragon carrying him, at his mercy, yet somehow still in control. He'd always thought nothing felt more natural to him in this world than wielding a sword. Now he realized this was what he'd truly been born to do.

By the time they landed, the sun was already setting. Jon had learned how to communicate with Rhaegal, both with verbal commands and body movements. Somehow, in such a short time, they'd managed to bond – dragon and rider.

Jon jumped from Rhaegal's back, landing beside him the same way he'd seen Daenerys land after jumping from Drogon. He rose to his feet and put a hand on Rhaegal's side, running his palm along his scales until he stood eye-to-eye with him.

"Thank you," Jon said, earning a seemingly obliging huff from Rhaegal. He put his hand on Rhaegal's forehead and watched as the beast closed his eyes and lowered his head until his snout was touching the ground. "Thank you," Jon said once more before Rhaegal lifted off into the sky.

"For the longest time, the only blood relative I had in my life was Viserys; he wasn't particularly kind or honorable, but he was all I had. I did everything I could to prove my worth to him; to show him I was loyal to him; to prove my love. In the end, he was so blinded by his quest for the crown, he forgot that the blood of the dragon flows in my veins too. He didn't think he might awaken the dragon within me; that was his downfall."

Jon looked at Daenerys as she stood before him, the others several paces behind her, shock written on their faces.

"It shall be refreshing to have blood family who isn't insane."

Jon felt a grin spread across his lips in response to the smile in her eyes. She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm.

"Welcome to House Targaryen, nephew."

Jon inclined his head in thanks and then looked over her shoulder, his eyes finding Sansa's.

"I propose an alliance, Your Grace, between our House and House Stark through the marriage of Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark."

"I thought you might," Daenerys replied with a smirk. "You shall rule together as King and Queen in the North, but you shall do so under the proclamations and rules I set forth. I don't expect this to be a problem for you, unless you're quite accustomed to raping, pillaging and enslaving your citizens."

"Hardly," Jon said with a chuckle.

"Good," Daenerys said, removing her hand from Jon's arm. "Then I suppose there's a wedding to plan."

##### XXXX

"We should talk about Ser Jamie, Jon."

Tormund glanced at Lady Stark before continuing his meal. He sat across from Jon in the feast room. The three of them had stayed back long after the others had retired to bed. It seemed the two of them were still too worked up from the events of the day and Tormund never missed an opportunity to eat.

"What is there to talk about? I don't want him here."

Silence followed, prompting Tormund to look up once more. Sansa's expression was stormy, hardly the light and carefree girl she'd been just moments ago.

"Well he can't go to King's Landing. Tyrion has been welcomed with open arms because he helped unseat Cersei and he murdered his father. He's never been hated like the rest of his family, even if he's been treated unfairly due to his stature. But I doubt the people would be as welcoming of Ser Jamie. He –"

"Why do you call him that? Why do you pay him respect and honor him when he and his family have caused you so much pain?"

Sansa sighed, pulling herself from Jon's side where she'd been leaning. The arm Jon had around her waist dropped and he turned to face her.

"My suffering was at the hands of Joffrey and Cersei, not Jamie. He wasn't even there for most of the time I was. And he helped Brienne so she could help me. Maybe he's not pure and innocent of everything, but everyone deserves a chance to set things right. And he's been trying to do that. You just won't let him."

"I don't want him here," Jon said again, slowly and with more emphasis. It was the first time Tormund had heard him speak so firmly or coldly to Lady Stark, who recoiled almost instantly.

"And I do. So now what?"

This was the moment, Tormund realized, they'd all been waiting for. It was time to find out who the real Warden of the North was.

"I gave in to you once already and let him live. Even allowed him comfortable chambers. You've treated him as a guest rather than a prisoner; you even gave him his sword back while I was gone. At every single turn, you've gotten your way, Sansa; but having a Lannister in Winterfell is something I cannot allow. I want him gone at first light."

Fire flashed in Sansa's eyes and she folded her arms over her chest.

"He's got nowhere else to go," she said, drawing each syllable out in a way that felt very much like she would not stand down. Tormund rose very slowly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. With a chicken leg still held between his teeth, he picked up his mug of ale and turned, strolling from the feast room.

"Bloody lovers quarrel, that is."

He walked through the castle, his mind replying the way the couple had squared off against one another for the sake of a man who, in all honesty, probably didn't deserve that much consideration. Still, Tormund couldn't ignore the fact that he was still alive because of the Golden Cunt with his golden hand and golden armor.

"Must have a golden prick, too," Tormund mumbled, taking a swallow of his ale. Why else would a woman as honorable, brave, and downright fierce as Brienne have fallen for him?

Tormund groaned, sucking the last bit of flesh from the chicken leg before tossing the bones over his shoulder. He turned, walking down the corridor leading to his chambers, but found himself standing in front of a different door. He rapped his knuckles against it, sloshing some of his ale onto the floor as he did.

After a moment or two, the door swung open and the Golden Cunt himself stood face to face with Tormund.

"Bit late for an arm wrestling match, isn't it?"

"Not like you'd win anyway. Perhaps a thumb wrestling match; you could win that with your golden—"

Tormund nodded to Jamie's golden hand, only to see it wasn't there. Instead, a mangled nub of a wrist rested against his pants.

"You were saying?"

"Let me talk to Brienne," Tormund said, changing topics. Jamie pushed the door open and stepped back allowing Tormund to enter. Behind him, Brienne stood wrapped in a blanket. Her hair fell over her forehead and into her eyes, the sides framing her face a bit. Tormund would have enjoyed the sight if not for knowing it was like that because she'd just been bedded by the prick in front of him.

"What is it, Tormund? Am I needed by Lady Stark?"

"No, nothing like that. Can I talk to you?"

Brienne glanced at Jamie and then back at Tormund, nodding once. She pulled the blanket tighter around her body and stepped forward, but Tormund held up a hand, turning to leave the room.

"Dress. I'll wait."

Tormund closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall. He ran his tongue over his teeth and stuck his finger in his mouth, digging a piece of chicken out from between his back teeth. He froze, hand in mouth and all, when the foreign Queen exited her room. She set her eyes upon him and instantly raised an eyebrow curiously. Tormund shrugged a little and then continued his efforts until successful. He flicked the piece of meat to the ground and nodded at her with a grin.

"Got it," he said.

"Bravo," she replied, her voice laced with laughter. "Tormund Giantsbane, right?"

Tormund nodded and stepped forward, pushing away from the wall. They met halfway and Tormund realized just how much he towered over the girl.

"And you're Daenerys Targaryen. Or Stormborn; I've heard it both ways."

"Dany, please. Just Dany. Your people, you have a camp nearby?"

"Aye. Not too far. The Free Folk aren't welcomed many places, but Jon has given us his protection so we'll stay here until the battle with winter is over."

"And then?"

"Dunno, Dany. Maybe back home. Maybe a new home."

Dany nodded and the door behind him opened with a creak. Tormund turned to see Brienne step into the corridor, fully clothed with her sword strapped to her hip. Tormund turned back to Daenerys and she offered him another smile before gesturing toward Brienne.

"I'll let you…"

"Aye," Tormund said. He watched her walk away, heading toward the front of the castle. When she was gone, he turned to Brienne. "We need to talk."

"What's going on?"

"They're arguing right now – Jon and Lady Stark. He wanted to send your boyfriend away and she's fighting to keep him here. I'm not sure what will happen, but if he has his way, Jamie will be gone tomorrow."

Brienne looked horror stricken. She glanced back at the door and then turned to face Tormund once more. She shook her head slowly.

"Banishment? And then what? He's already told me he won't return to King's Landing even if he could. Too many ghosts there. He's got nowhere to go; no one to help him."

"I just thought you should know. In case…"

"Why? You don't even like him."

"Aye," Tormund said with a nod. He ran his hand through his beard, combing out a loose tangle. "I don't like him. But you do. And I like you. So I just… I thought you should know. Besides, there's nothing saying you can't go with him. It's not like you're Lady Stark's only bodyguard. She's got plenty of us."

Brienne shook her head and Tormund noticed her stand up a bit straighter.

"I can't. I pledged my sword and my life to her. There'll be a war. Who knows who of you survive that. I can't leave her unprotected."

Brienne sighed. And then held her arm out toward him.

"Thank you, Tormund. You've done me a kindness. I won't forget it."

Tormund clasped her arm and, despite his natural inclination to make light of the situation, he chose instead to just enjoy the way her fingers wrapped around his arm. She stood at his height, eye-to-eye and chest-to-chest. He couldn't help but admire her. Finally, he released her arm and stepped back, leaving her to return to her love. As he walked away, Tormund couldn't help but wonder which outcome he secretly hoped for: banishment or forgiveness. Either way, he supposed Brienne had made her decision and he didn't want to be a second choice.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Brienne still watching him. She nodded at him and then turned, going back into the room.

"Damn warm weather's making me soft hearted."

##### XXXX

Sansa looked up at Jon, her eyes traveling up his body from their joined hands, over his chest, pausing only briefly at his lips, before finding his eyes. He stared down at her with a combination of love and lust. Sansa felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of his gaze. Words hovered all around Sansa, acknowledged yet hardly heard. She went through the motions, repeating the words she was prompted to and holding her hand steady beneath Jon's while their hands were bound together with cloth embroidered with a dragon on one end and a direwolf at the other.

Jon's thumb stroked Sansa's palm. Hidden from view and known only to her, the gesture calmed her. Standing under the godswood, Sansa tore her eyes away from Jon and glanced over her shoulder at the small audience standing behind them.

Bran and Arya sat side by side and beside Bran sat Tyrion. He met her gaze and raised his small flask of wine in cheers. She couldn't help but smile. She looked next at Daenerys, who sat beside Tyrion. They had just flown back to Winterfell that morning so they could be in attendance. Her eyes were set upon Jon. Sansa thought perhaps a part of her might have been jealous of the bond she and Jon had formed so quickly, if not for the fact that she was happy for it. Jon needed someone on that side of his bloodline to trust in. Behind only she and Davos, Daenerys had become invaluable to Jon.

Lyanna Mormont sat beside Daenerys, accompanied by Howland Reed and Wyman Manderly. After Howland Reed had given his account of the events that took place at the Tower of Joy, there hadn't been much discussion about the validity of Jon's claim. Sansa was thankful for it.

Behind the group in front, Jamie and Brienne sat behind Bran and Arya. Sansa felt a surge of love and admiration for Jon every time she saw Jamie. They had bickered and argued for a solid two days before Jon finally gave in to Sansa. In the end, he'd told her he was proud of her for standing her ground. Davos met Sansa's gaze as her eyes moved from Brienne to him. He nodded once, a kind smile lighting his eyes. She returned it and then her attention was pulled away by Tormund, who sat beside Davos.

Tormund leaned forward and whispered something into Daenerys's ear. She responded with a curt nod and Sansa raised an eyebrow as she saw the Mother of Dragons bite her lip, her cheeks filling with a telling blush. Tormund grinned and sat back again, lifting his leg over his knee. He crossed his arms over his chest and beamed with satisfaction. Sansa was certain she'd never been more curious about anything in her life.

Her eyes had only just settled on Sam, who sat beside Tormund with little Sam in his arms, when Jon cleared his throat loudly, pulling Sansa's attention back to him.

"Your words," he whispered.

"Oh!" Sansa cleared her throat and took a deep, steadying breath. "Today, I, Sansa of House Stark, stand before you, seeking the blessing of the gods as I give myself to you - heart, soul, and flesh. I pledge my House to yours in alliance. I promise to stand tall and proud beside you and in your stead at all times. I promise to act with the grace and dignity befitting your wife. Above all this, I will love you fiercely from this day until my last day, forsaking all others."

Jon grinned and Sansa felt her nerves drain away. She'd gotten through it without tripping on her words or forgetting what she'd written.

"Today, I, Jon of House Targaryen, stand before you, seeking the blessing of the gods as I give myself to you – heart, soul, and flesh. I pledge my House to yours in alliance. I promise to protect you, cherish you, and honor you at all times. I promise to provide for you, care for you, and hold you in the highest esteem. Above all this, I will love you fiercely from this day until my last day, forsaking all others."

Sansa's heart leapt into her throat and she struggled, blinking back tears, to maintain her composure. This was her third wedding ceremony, but it was the first time the words had meant anything to her. It was the first time she'd had any say in the promises she made and the vows she took. It was the first time she'd felt joy rather than fear.

The rest of the ceremony happened in a blur with Sansa focusing only on Jon's face. She studied him, picking out flecks of gold in his dark eyes, counting the curls that framed his face, memorizing the way his beard emphasized the cut of his jawline. She even admired his scars, for they spoke of all he'd survived to be standing before her today. It was his lips she was focused on when he suddenly stepped forward, drawing her into his arms. His full lips, which she had just been desiring, collided with hers, eliciting cheers and whistles from their guests. Sansa's fingers tangled in Jon's hair and his hands gripped her so firmly she knew they'd leave an impression.

When they finally pulled away, they were proclaimed wedded and presented. Standing under the godswood, snow falling on their shoulders, Sansa felt her life begin.

They led the way from the godswood to the castle, walking hand in hand. Sansa had to fight the urge to draw Jon even closer, knowing no amount of contact would be enough at this point. Not while their clothing acted as a barrier between them. Sansa glanced up at Jon. He looked even more desirable than usual. Part of it, she knew, was the way his snow dusted cloak rested on his shoulders. The fur of the collar brushed against his neck, emphasizing the part of him that was a wolf. Sansa had surprised Jon by embroidering the sigil of House Targaryen on the opposite side of the direwolf.

The entered the feast room and Sansa was pleased to see it was filled with the families of Winterfell. Men, women, and children stood smiling as they passed. The room had been decorated, the efforts led primarily by Arya, and was lit with candles and oil lamps, giving it a brightness Sansa had never seen before. The fire roared behind the head table and two of the usual chairs at the table had been replaced with what could only be described as thrones.

Jon and Sansa reached their seats and turned, waiting for the rest of the ceremony attendees to find their places at the head table. Daenerys sat immediately beside Jon and Bran and Arya sat beside Sansa. It was nice, Sansa thought, that Jon had blood family on his side. Brienne and Jamie sat on Sansa's side as Brienne was pledged to her. Davos and Tormund sat on Jon's side, Davos seated beside Tyrion.

Lyanna Mormont and the other Northern Lords had their own table not far away. Once everyone was seated, Jon and Sansa stood side by side as Jon addressed the room.

"Each of you honors us with your presence. Your support of our union, of our love, is both powerful and overwhelming. We ask tonight that you count yourselves our equal, as we are one family bound together in Northern pride. Please, enjoy the evening."

They sat down and Sansa took Jon's hand immediately, as she was so accustomed to doing. He kissed the side of her head and turned, responding to something Daenerys said to him. Sansa thanked the young girl who placed her food in front of her, watching as the entire room began to buzz with friendly conversation.

"Are you happy?"

Sansa turned to look at Bran. Her little brother stared at her with so much hope and love, it made Sansa's chest constrict.

"I am."

"He's lucky, you know. Jon, I mean. You're not the only lucky one. He's lucky you chose him."

Sansa smiled and put her arm around Bran.

"I suppose we all are. We have a chance now; for survival."

"More than just a chance," Bran said. "We will win this war, Sansa. Peace isn't so far off now."

##### XXXX

Dany watched her nephew dance with his new wife. Jon didn't look like a Targaryen, she decided. Not in any way at all. She tried to imagine him with the same blond locks Rhaegar had, but the image was muddied. Jon was just too dark for it; nearly everything he wore was black or dark brown and his onyx hair matched the darkness in his eyes. It led her to imagine Lyanna. She must have had dark hair and eyes. Dany imagined she was fair in complexion as most Northerners were. Somehow, Dany saw a softness to her that Rhaegar would have been drawn to.

Of course, Jon wasn't soft in anyway. He was kind and warm hearted, but hardly soft. He was strong willed and strong bodied. Her desire to usher in a reign of peace seemed to match Jon's desire to protect. He wanted to protect everyone, too; not just the North or his family. He wanted to ensure the survival of mankind.

It was the thing Dany found she responded to most. And as much as she relied upon Tyrion for his council and friendship, he wasn't family. Jon had become the family she'd always wanted and Sansa treated her as a sister might, had she been given one.

She raised her wine glass to her lips, her eyes still set on the newlyweds. Her gift had been a selfish one, she admitted only to herself. She'd brought Rhaegal to Jon. While a gift of significance, she was also happy it would allow Jon to travel to King's Landing often and with haste. She smiled, her lips grazing the edge of her glass, thinking of their flight together the day prior. She'd never been able to race another dragon rider before.

"A woman as beautiful as you should not be watching others dance. She should be the one being watched."

Dany jumped a little, pulled from her thoughts by Tormund's voice. She glanced to the side, looking up at him for a moment before taking a swallow of her wine.

"A woman, no matter how beautiful, waits for a man to ask for her hand."

Tormund grunted and reached out, taking the glass of wine from her hand. He drained the rest of the glass and then tossed it to a nearby serving girl. Turning to Dany with a grin, he held out his hand.

"A man is asking for your hand now."

Dany stared up at him. There was something about this man; he was unrefined, brazen, and unkempt. Yet he made her burn in a way she hadn't expected. Still, she hesitated. He wasn't the right man to be binding herself to right now and she wasn't the type of woman to give her hand to men she didn't plan to keep around for a while. As though sensing her hesitation, Tormund's eyes softened and he ran a hand over his face.

"It's a dance, woman, not a binding ceremony."

Dany laughed and nodded, placing her hand in Tormund's. He pulled her out to the semi-circle in the middle of the feast room. Catching a look from Jon as they passed, Tormund winked and pulled Dany against him. Unsure of herself, Dany ran her hands over his arms. He was as broad as any Dothraki, if not more so, and towered over her by more than a head. Slowly, and deliberately, Dany placed her hands on his chest. He was nothing but hard muscle and red hair.

She moved with him, realizing rather quickly that the man couldn't dance to save his life, and found herself focusing instead on the way his hands traveled over and gripped her hips, her sides, her arm.

"When do you leave?"

"A few days, yet."

"Visit the Free Folk's camp before you go. Most of them haven't met you yet, but they're curious."

"Introducing me to your family already, Tormund?" Dany stared up at him with a playful smirk he readily returned.

"Aye, and what of it?"

Dany laughed and drew her arms up, resting on Tormund's shoulders. He held her sides and she couldn't help but notice he hadn't allowed the customary space between their bodies. She was pressed firmly against him, her breasts nearly spilling from her dress as they pressed against his body. She knew it would seem indecent to the more civilized Northern Houses, but where she came from, and apparently where Tormund came from, there were no societal imposed boundaries.

Tormund stroked her side, the warmth of him reaching her skin even through her dress. _Brazen,_ she thought once more. Though, it didn't bother her for some reason. Any other man taking liberties like this, touching her so unabashedly, would find themselves with one or two hands fewer.

All around them, couples danced and laughed. Right beside her, Sam and Gilly went spinning past. Gilly's head was thrown back in laughter and Sam looked delighted with himself. Beyond them, Davos guided Arya right into Bran's arms. Bran caught her easily, his chair not inhibiting him too much. Even Tyrion, who was decidedly anti-social when it came to large events, was sitting on the edge of the dance floor in deep conversation with Lady Mormont and the other Northern Lords.

Amongst them, dozens of Winterfell's families danced and laughed. Being invited to the wedding of the King and Queen of the North was no small thing for most of them. Dany rather liked it. She couldn't help but notice that Jamie Lannister and Lady Brienne had not joined them on the dance floor. She glanced around the room until she found them sitting in a corner. Jamie was leaning forward toward Brienne, her hand held in his. They walked quietly, but Dany could tell he was working hard to make her laugh. And she seemed to be working hard not to give in.

"Why aren't they dancing with the rest of us?" Dany asked Tormund, gesturing toward them.

"Ah. They didn't think the Northern families would enjoy bumping elbows with a Lannister. It's a curtesy, she says. I offered to dance with her, but she denied me."

"I see," Dany said, looking up at him. "Then I was merely the backup plan?"

"Aye," he said, nodding stoically. After a moment, he broke into a grin and shook his head. "I wanted her, I admit. For a long time; but that was before you came flying in on your dragon, breathing fire over me."

"Drogon didn't—"

"No, but you did. You've got fire in your eyes, Dany. One look and you burnt me alive."

"Is it your corpse I dance with now?"

Tormund frowned, glancing away from Dany. She watched as his eyes moved over the people around them. At some point, they had stopped dancing and were merely held in an embrace.

"I suppose most corpses I've encountered were single-minded; driven by instinct, impulse and need. So perhaps I am merely a corpse now."

"And what is it instinct, impulse, and need are driving you toward?"

As soon as she'd asked it, Dany knew she'd gone too far. Mild, harmless flirting with the wild man was fine, but now she'd gone and asked him to put it to words and open a door that wouldn't be easily closed. The look on Tormund's face only confirmed her theory; his eyes darkened and he licked his lips as his eyes moved to her mouth. Dany felt her lips part in response and Tormund seemed to notice as well. His grip on her side tightened to an almost painful point and Dany found herself wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

Tormund leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy on her ear. Dany felt her eyes flutter closed as she dug her fingers into his furs.

"Hot, juicy, delicious…. food. I can't get enough, really."

Tormund licked Dany's ear and pulled back quickly, his face alive in amusement and anticipation. He stared at her, waiting for a reaction. Finally, laughter bubbled up in her chest, spilling forth loudly. Her hand moved to wipe his saliva off her ear. Tormund's laughter joined hers and she realized he'd done her a favor; he'd diverted the conversation.

When she was done laughing, she looked up at him, wiping tears from her cheeks. He beamed at her, apparently proud of himself.

"Then let's feed you, big man."

Dany took Tormund's hand and led him from the crowded dance floor. They spent the rest of the night and well into the morning in their own corner eating more than their fill of meat, potatoes and sweet breads.

Dany hadn't talked or laughed so much in years.

##### XXXX

Jon used Sansa's body to push open the door to their room. His lips were buried in her neck, his hands already working at the knots on her dress. She had pushed his cloak to the floor in one of the corridors leading from the feast room. It likely still lay discarded where it had fallen, as they'd been too involved to stop for it.

Sansa was as much pulling him to the bed as he was guiding her there. They only made it halfway before they tripped over half-removed clothing. Jon twisted them as they fell so he landed first, pulling Sansa down on top of him. Their lips collided and Jon groaned as Sansa raked her nails up the side of his thigh and over his hip.

She tasted of wine and lemon cakes. Jon grew increasingly intoxicated by her the more his hands traced her bare back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jon was still trying to reconcile the fact that she was his.

He sat up, lifting Sansa easily, and guided her where he wanted her. She sank down on him and Jon lost himself in her warmth. They rocked together on the floor, bodies pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, mouths melded together.

Sansa's moans grew increasingly strangled as Jon drove into her, his full length hitting a depth he'd not thought possible before. He laid her back on the floor and pulled her legs over his shoulders, lifting her hips off the floor.

This time, Sansa did scream. Jon stilled inside her, holding himself at just the right spot as she came undone. He watched her, admiring the way her chest rose and fell in hitches, her hardened nipples jutting into the air. Her hair fanned out beneath her body and her hand found his chest. She left her hand there, right over his heart, securing that extra contact they both needed so desperately.

When her breaths began to regulate once more, Jon turned her, laying her on her stomach. He leaned over her, kissing her shoulder and neck, as his hands lifted her hips just enough that she was angled up toward him. His kissed her shoulder blade and then entered her once more, causing her throw her head back with a moan, arching her back against him. Jon swooped one arm under her body, holding her against him as he took her once more.

"Harder," Sansa whimpered, so faintly Jon barely heard it. He bit her shoulder gently and slammed into her, rocking her off the ground with a grunt. "Again," Sansa said, louder this time. Jon repeated his movements, pulling out only to slam back into her once more. Each time he did, Sansa cried out, her fist slamming into the floor.

"Sansa," Jon moaned into her ear, still holding her body up against his as he moved within her. When he could take no more, he rose up, rolling her onto her back. He slid back into her easily and her hands immediately found his hair, pulling his lips to hers. He kissed her breathlessly, moaning into her mouth which each thrust. Sansa met his movements with her own, the sensation pushing him nearer the edge as each second passed.

"Fill me," Sansa whispered against his lips. "Make me your wife, Jon."

Jon's head fell forward, his forehead pressed against hers, and he let himself go. He drove into her repeatedly, slamming his hips against hers until she tightened around him. Jon felt her find release and he followed her, pouring himself into her as wave after wave hit him. When he was finally empty and she had taken all he had to offer, he drew back slowly.

Jon fell to the side, catching his breath as Sansa turned into his side, draping her leg over his waist. He was used to it now, the way she buried her head in his side, his arm around her. When their moans and gasps for breath finally died away, Jon looked down at his wife. She was already drifting to sleep. Her breasts were pressed against him, rising and falling steadily. She had her hands drawn up to her neck, tucked under her chin. Jon rested his hand on the back of her thigh, holding it on his body as he laid his head back allowing his thoughts to run.

He thought over the events of the day, replaying the way Sansa had looked in the godswood as the snow fell on her red hair and her cheeks flushed from the cold. He thought of the way she had gotten lost in thought and missed her cue for her words. It made him smile to think of it; that was how he knew she was his Sansa in that moment and not the Warden of the North. She had felt comfortable and safe enough to allow herself to relax. She hadn't been playing a part; she'd simply been Sansa.

His thoughts turned next to his friends and family. Somehow, the child who'd felt an outsider was now the patriarch of a family with more friends than he'd ever known. He thought of each of them: Bran, Arya, Davos, Tormund, Sam… He'd even begun to think of Brienne as a friend, though he knew her loyalty lay with Sansa first and foremost. Eventually, his thoughts turned to Dany. She'd taken to telling him about their family; all that she knew anyway. He'd learned a lot but wanted to know so much more. All he could do was look at her and imagine that she got her strength and spirit somewhere; perhaps it was a gift from the Mad King before he'd gone mad.

Finally, he thought of Ned. He still thought of him as father, though he realized he called both Ned and Rhaegar "father" when he spoke to them. Maybe Rhaegar hadn't been given the chance to be his father, but Jon liked to think Lyanna loved him for a reason and whatever it was would have made him a good father also. Ned, on the other hand, wasn't his father, yet he sacrificed so much to be a good one to Jon. Ned Stark was the reason Jon had the love of so many people now; he'd been raised by the most honorable and beloved man Jon knew.

When Sansa's skin grew cold to touch, Jon shifted, pulling her into his arms as he rose to his feet. He deposited her in bed and then lay beside her, pulling the furs over them both.

"I love you," Sansa whispered sleepily, clasping Jon's hand in her own. She held it against her chest, tucking it under her chin. With a smile, Jon leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.

"And I, you."

##### XXXX

"Take care of that husband of yours, Sansa," Tyrion said, standing beside Drogon. He winked at Jon, earning a laugh from him. Sansa nodded and swooped, hugging Tyrion suddenly. Even Jon could see Tyrion's obvious surprise. He regained his senses and wrapped his arms around Sansa, patting her back awkwardly.

"Sansa," he said, pulling back from her. She smiled at him before rising and stepping away. Jon watched as she stopped in front of Dany. The women stared at each other for a moment before breaking into a grin.

"Today?" Dany asked and Sansa nodded. "Good," Dany said simply before embracing Sansa. "Then I expect to see you soon. And despite what my Hand says, I expect my nephew to take care of you, not the other way around." Dany threw a playful look at Jon and he raised a hand, silently asking if she expected anything else from him.

When they were done, Arya stepped forward, pushing Bran in his rolling chair. They said their farewells and then retreated once more. Next, Jamie and Brienne stepped forward. Part of Jon still wanted to see Jamie leaving rather than his brother, but he'd promised Sansa he wouldn't bring it up again and he didn't plan to go back on his word.

"Perhaps when tensions die down, several, several years from now, you can come visit," Tyrion said to Jamie, earning a laugh from the Kingslayer.

"Perhaps, little brother. But until then, I hope you'll make the trip often."

"You'll see us, frequently, I'm sure. Where I go, my Hand goes. And I plan to make Winterfell my second home."

Jamie nodded at Dany, offering one of his most charming smiles.

"Safe travels, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Jamie. Brienne."

Brienne, a woman of little sentiment in farewells, Jon had realized, bowed respectfully.

"Your Grace."

Davos said his goodbyes, actually receiving an unexpected embrace from Dany before he retreated, standing beside Arya and Bran.

Leaving only Tormund. Dany turned toward him expectantly and Jon watched as the two stared at one another. Jon felt Sansa take his hand, drawing his attention to her face for a moment. She raised an eyebrow and gestured toward Dany and Tormund. Jon frowned and turned once more, watching as the most mismatched pair of the whole lot looked at each other with what Jon could only describe as longing.

Finally, Tormund stepped forward. Jon felt his jaw drop as he saw Tormund do something he'd never seen him do before: he lowered himself to his knee in front of Dany. He looked up at her just as she reached out, placing her hand on his cheek. Tormund rose suddenly, capturing Dany's lips with his own.

Shocked gasps filled the air around them, though the two paid no mind. Tormund lifted Dany off the ground, holding her against his body. She clung to him, one hand still on his cheek as the other wrapped around his neck. When Tormund set her back on the ground, Dany looked up at him… And then slowly around to their audience. When her eyes landed on Jon, he blinked at her, words escaping him.

She shrugged, a smile lighting up her features as she took a step back from Tormund. She took one more look at Tormund, who was grinning like a fool, and then pulled herself easily and swiftly onto Drogon. Tyrion followed her up and settled in behind her.

A moment later, they were gone.

"Well," Sam said suddenly, "I guess I won't expect the same fond farewell from you, Tormund."

Tormund grunted and scanned the sky once more before stomping away into the castle. Jon laughed and reached out, pulling Sam into a hug. He clapped Sam on the back, breaking their hug as he pulled away. Turning to Gilly next, he kissed her on the cheek before pulling little Sam into his arms. Sansa wrapped Gilly in a hug the second her arms were empty.

"We'll visit, I promise," Sansa said into Gilly's shoulder.

"You'll have to. Sammy needs his aunt and uncle in his life. It can't just be us all alone."

Jon nodded at Gilly, bouncing the baby in his arms gently. Jon still wondered if he was doing the right thing, sending Sam and Gilly to King's Landing unprotected. Gilly hadn't been willing to take the baby into the sky on dragonback, so they'd finally agreed to go by wagon. The trip would be long and hard, but as Sam had pointed out, they'd done worse.

"I'll send a raven, Jon. As soon as we've made the first sliver of dragonglass, you'll hear from me."

"I know, Sam. You'll do great."

Jon deposited little Sam back into Gilly's arms and then stepped back, standing beside Sansa. They watched as Sam and Gilly climbed into the wagon, settling in for the long trip. A part of Jon ached to be sending Sam away again. He'd spent more time sending Sam away than he had protecting him. He hoped someday that would change.

Gilly turned in her seat and waved, raising the baby's arm to wave along with her. Sansa laughed softly and Jon waved back.

"I'll kind of miss it," Jon said. "Watching little Sam keep them so busy."

"Mm," Sansa replied and Jon felt her look up at him. "It's probably for the best. He kept us busy too, after all."

"Aye, he did."

"And we'll be too busy now keeping up with our own child."

"Aye, we'll be too – wait…"

Jon turned, looking down at Sansa who stared up at him with absolute joy. He cocked his head to the side and glanced down. Sansa's hand was resting over her stomach.

"Are you?"

"Mhm. It's early still, but I'm sure now. Dany and I… we figured it out this morning."

Jon laughed, lifting Sansa into his arms. They'd come full circle now; he was no longer a motherless bastard, rather a King, and he'd sired a child who would know both its mother and father, plus aunts and uncles.

"Siblings," Jon said suddenly. "He'll need siblings."

Sansa laughed, kissing Jon gently.

"How about we birth this once first and then we can get started on siblings?"

"If you insist," Jon replied, pulling his wife to his lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews much appreciated! Thank you to everyone who has been following this story since chapter 1 and all who have written with their feedback and suggestions.


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